


Castiel's Home for the Psychically Gifted (and Emotionally Broken)

by MysticMoonhigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Community - Freeform, Dean and Sam are besties, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Past Lives, Tarot Cards, Witchcraft, bottom!Castiel, psychic!Sam, realistically portrayed witchcraft, spells, tarot reading, witch!castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticMoonhigh/pseuds/MysticMoonhigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel runs a home for psychics, witches, spirit keepers, people of extraordinary talent. Sam just happens to be one of those people. <br/>~~~<br/>When their father turns on Sam in the form of biting insults and what verges on physical abuse, Dean decides to take matters into his own hands. He takes Sam and hits the road, seeking refuge and acceptance. At the promise of a roof over their heads and Sam's emotional well-being, Dean agrees to do handy work around the aging psychic house, as well playing assistant to Castiel, in exchange for a place to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all. I'd like to say that I thank you for coming here, firstly.  
> Now, I'd like to warn you that this probably isn't what you thought you clicked on. I consider myself a witch, an actual witch, and in this fic, I will attempt to accurately represent witchcraft. Yes, that's right. Anything in this fic (unless stated otherwise) is entirely possible.  
> Next, I'd like to invite all of you to take [this quick typeform ]() that will help me to know what you all want. I'll be checking up with it often, even though when I'm in the middle of writing it lol. Some of the questions are no longer applicable, but some of them are.  
> Please enjoy.

 

Castiel lived in a little house, on a little corner, in a little town. Everything was hand-made, home-grown, hand-delivered. He liked it.

The tourist season, now _that_? That was when he really shone. His business was one of the crowning achievements of the town. They were in their fifth season from when he'd opened up on his eighteenth birthday, and every day still felt like a gift.

The air was warm. Not too warm, not too breezy. It wasn't humid. Hummingbirds fluttered around the garden outside, dipping their beaks into the nectre from the feeders before zipping back to wherever they came from. Castiel was never sure where they went, since he'd never seen a hummingbird nest before, but he figured that some things were supposed to be left to the imagination.

As per usual, Missouri was standing by the coffee pot. She was always the first to get up in the morning, no matter how early he tried. He'd gotten up at four in the morning last year on Christmas so he could surprise her by making her morning coffee, but she'd still somehow managed to be up, looking at him with a slight smile on her face.

It may have something to do with the fact that Missouri, as the rest of the inhabitants of the house, is... Well, gifted.

Castiel nodded to her, walking over to his cabinet and pulling out his mug. Herb bottles and potions clanged together and he smiled a little, finally locating his mug and pulling it out of the cabinet. He padded over to the fridge, squinting as he opened it up and looked plainly at the wide array of creamers.

All of them sort of started to stack up when you had so many people in the house.

He picked up his usual, vanilla caramel, and walked over to the table to sit with Missouri.

“Well, well then.” Missouri said, smirking. “You're in a good mood. Usually, you're all baggy eyes and mumbling until you've had at least two cups of coffee. Any reason why?”

His dream last night had been of flying again, sailing through the clouds gracefully, dipping between them and condensation gathering on his skin. He loved these dreams.

“I have a feeling it's going to be a good day today.” He said, crow's feet appearing next to his eyes as he raised his coffee cup to his lips. Missouri rolled her eyes. She was convinced that Castiel was in denial; Missouri had this odd notion that his dreams _meant something_ , something that Castiel would never believe.

“You're not wrong. We have five appointments scheduled, and walk-ins have never been so high. I'm starting to worry that you're gonna need new people, Castiel.” She said, raising her eyebrows. Castiel blushed at the praise.

“Well, there are two rooms left.” He said, pondering the idea. “It would be plausible.” However, the house felt full already. Castiel couldn't complain about it, because every one of the people who lived in it had slowly become his family, but he wouldn't look for any tenants any time soon.    

But if someone qualified asked? Well, he wouldn't turn them down.

Castiel finished up his cup of coffee, the slightly bitter flavor making him smile. He picked up the cup and carried it over to the sink, dropping it in and washing his hands. After all, he didn't want them to be dirty when he did his morning reading.

Ever since he'd gotten his tarot cards, he'd done a reading every morning with them. Five years ago now feels like forever, and despite having other decks to choose from, he couldn't imagine using any other than his first, the Mystical Cat Tarot.

He dried his hands thoroughly, then shook them through the air to make sure any stray droplets were gone. Once done, he cracked his neck and padded over to his altar where he did his morning reading, mumbling a small hello to the cards before picking them up and beginning to shuffle through them.

Immediately, one sparked. Castiel tilted his head to the side as he felt the little bolt of energy, and the deck spirit felt more enthusiastic than he'd ever felt it before. His eyebrows crinkled as he placed the top half of the deck below, placing his hand on the card to make sure that this was the right one. It buzzed against his fingers, and he picked it up and turned it over.

_The Lovers._

Castiel's eyes widened. He'd never drawn that card before, even after five years of reading for both himself and others. His deck had just refused to give it to him, even in romantically-oriented readings. Castiel had thought for the longest time it was because he was grey-ace, but that wouldn't explain why now, all of a sudden-

The doorbell rang. Castiel placed the card back into the deck, looking towards Missouri. He never scheduled meetings this early in the morning, so he figured it was for her.

However, she looked just as confused as he was. “I'm not about to get up and answer it.”

Castiel nodded, walking briskly up to the door. He opened it, intent on telling whomever it was that their open appointments weren't for another five hours.

Sunlight flooded in, revealing two raggedy-looking men standing on his front porch.

“I'm really sorry, but we need a place to stay.”

~~~

 _Anything for Sam. Anything for Sam. This is for Sam_. Dean repeated this to himself over and over again as his fingers clutched the steering wheel, anxiety still churning in his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to stop, even hours after the encounter.

Sam turned eighteen in a month. He was already done with high school, already had a future planned out. If their dad called the police, filed kidnapping charges, well... They only had a month to try and find them. And, while Bobby was friends with their father, he also knew what was going on. He wouldn't dare tell him where Dean and Sam were going.

_“He's a fucking freak, that's what he is.”_

Dean turned to watch his little brother, nose twitching in his sleep. His floppy hair, his brown eyes, his intelligence. There was no way Dean could let him take another minute of that, even if there would be consequences.

_“Your mother would have felt the same way. You didn't know her the way I did. She would have told him the same thing, Dean!”_

The last straw had come a couple nights ago, when their father had grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him down the hall before locking him in the bathroom. Dean was able to pull his half-drunk ass away from the door and force him back into the living room, but he was shaking the whole time. Much like he was now.

_“This isn't normal, this isn't natural! He needs to shut his damn mouth about it. He's making all of us look like crazy people, and I'm not gonna stand for it one more goddamned minute!”_

Dean had always had trouble standing up to their father, but for this? For this, he would get over it. Sammy was more important than whatever punishment their dad could try and cook up, whatever names he decided to throw at Dean in an attempt to make him feel like shit. It worked sometimes, too.

_“You're probably the one who did this to him! Filling his head with this bullshit. I'm being the man of the house. You dealt with doing what I said, and he will too.”_

The problem was that Dean wasn't even really sure he believed in all this “bullshit” himself. He didn't know how it could be possible for Sam to see the future, how he knew that the woman in the restaurant left her keys in the car, or the man in the grocery store had cancer. He just did.

And bless his stupid little heart, he felt obligated to tell someone, obligated to help people. Dean didn't understand how he could possibly still want to help people after how shitty he's seen people be to Sam about it, but he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to close his eyes and lay down and sleep for a thousand years, sure, but he couldn't.

He was doing this, all of this, to get Sam out of that shitty environment.

Castiel's Home for the Psychically Gifted. Dean had thought that Bobby was making a damn joke when he first suggested it, and he'd hung up on him.

Five minutes later, Bobby had called back, and Dean had informed him that it wasn't funny to pull that bullshit. Bobby called him an idgit, hung up on Dean back, and another ten minutes passed before Dean received a text with a link to a webpage.

_I'm using this fancy bullshit phone to text you. I'm serious, idjit._

Dean knew at that point that Bobby wasn't joking around. Bobby hated technology, more than anything else. He stared at the phone in absolute shock for a little while, trying to process the fact that Bobby was actually sending him a link to a psychic's website.

Dean went there, and everything seemed clean and nice. However, he knew how places like these worked. Whatever was going on with Sam was real, and he wasn't going to take him to some group of quacks that would teach him how to cold read for cash.

Dean called him back, shaking his head the entire time.

“I don't know who paid you how much to send me that link, but I think I'd like to break the son of a bitch's nose.” Dean said.

“I know you're not gonna believe it, but this place is the real deal. If you want your little brother out of that hellhole, that's where you need to go. I didn't believe it at first either-”

“Come on, Bobby, you have books on fucking vampires. You'll believe anything.”

“I have _lore_ books. If you don't start showing me some respect, I'm gonna get up out of this damn house and smack some sense into that head of yours. You believe your brother, right?”

Dean gritted his teeth, and struggled out a simple, “Yes.”

“Then other people can be psychic too. Welcome to a whole new world.”

“I don't think I'm ready for this magic carpet ride.” Dean said, shaking his head. He just didn't know if he could count on a whole group of people all being legit. He didn't want to waste his time in a big house of lunatics when he had the real deal, crying back in his room because dad got drunk and called him a “ _mutation_ ” again.

Of course, Sammy would never admit to the crying. But Dean knew that he was. And this wasn't the kind of crying he could make fun of Sam for, this was some serious _someone-needs-punched-in-the-face_ crying.

Still, Dean hadn't had the balls to stand up to their father for what he now considered to be way too freaking long. He didn't want to keep doing this, to keep submitting to what their dad wanted and pretending like it was all okay. He was raised to do that, though, and breaking that habit was fucking hard.

Hence, the shaking. And the nervously checking his phone every hour. And not taking their dad's calls. Sammy had written a note telling him what was happening, and that would be enough for him.

Dean was just glad their dad had relinquished his rights to drive the impala after the third time he'd gotten a DUI. Even if he was committing a crime right now, grand theft auto wouldn't be going onto his reccord. This baby was one-hundred percent, Dean Winchester's property.

At least that was one little speck of good in this monstrous, soul-sucking pit of despair and bad. Dean couldn't help but think that things were going to get worse-it seemed like they always did, for him.

He just prayed to every god and goddess he could think of that whatever the hell happened to him, it didn't bring down Sam. The kid, despite being moved around all over the place growing up, had managed well in school and gotten a helluva score on his ACT and SAT.

Sam was going places. College, girlfriend, white picket fence family with a little dog in the yard and a mortgage and all that fun stuff. He wanted to be a lawyer, defend people who were innocent.

He told Dean that sometimes, he could tell when people were lying to him, especially if he spent a little time with them first. He wasn't sure if it was psychic or intuitive, but either way it would make choosing his clients a breeze.

Dean still didn't even like to think the word. _Psychic_. When he thought of it, he thought of those wrinkly old women with crystal balls and no future, pretending like they knew what they were talking about so they could trick teenaged girls into calling in to ask whether or not their crush liked them back. Dean couldn't see Sam that way, he couldn't see him as being that fake.

Plus, on the rare occasions where someone actually took Sam's advice, Dean had seen it with his own two eyes that the kid was real. As real as something like this could get, anyways.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” He said, reaching over and giving his brother a push. Sam cut off mid-snore and rose, blinking owlishly at Dean. Dean turned on his turn signal and pulled into the little Bed and Breakfast, a place that owed Bobby a favor and looked as good a place as any to spend the night.

“We're here?” Sam asked, looking out at the house and squinting. Dean shook his head.

“No, but we're close. We're saving that trip for the morning. Get up and get out.” Dean said.

Dean was tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally, exhausted. He didn't want to deal with all of this anymore, it was two o'clock in the morning, and tomorrow he was planning on walking up to the house of a total stranger and asking them to teach his little brother how to become the male version of Raven from disney channel.

They climbed out of the car, and Sammy drug his feet along the ground as he moved sluggishly towards the porch. He looked so young, so innocent. Dean could remember what it was like to be that age, though he supposed Sammy had an added heap of shit on top of the hormones and growth spurts and the stress of being on the brink of adulthood.

Although Dean didn't honestly want to be here right now, he didn't think he had it in him to regret it, even for a second.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out! The next chapter should not take so long. This chapter also covered a lot less than I was expecting, and ended up a lot longer. Ooops.  
> By the way, never bridge tarot cards, kids.   
> And you can follow me, ask questions, etc. at MysticMoonhigh on tumblr. However, if your questions are witchcraft-related, you can direct them over to Universal-Magick, which is a magic blog I help to run.

Castiel stared, blankly, trying to process what he saw.

Eyes. Green-brown, like a forest was trying to grow out of this man's soul. Wide shoulders, a soft face, an easygoing smile that could probably make girl blush. Castiel was blushing now, in fact.

“I'm sorry. Excuse me?” He questioned. An overwhelming amount of feelings were tearing their way through him, leaving him mostly confused. What the heck was _that_ , that feeling of warmth and fondness and the way his mouth went dry when he saw the other man?

Surely this couldn't be... Surely this wasn't...

Suddenly, he stepped aside. Or, well, he _sort of_ , stepped aside. Castiel didn't realize until he saw the younger child, a mop of brown hair, that he'd been _pushed._ The older one gave the younger one a look of indignation, seeming to pout.

“Sorry about that, my brother lacks social competence. I'm Sam.” He said, sticking out a hand for Castiel to shake. Castiel stared between them for a few moments, keeping his hand placed firmly on the door. After all, with the confusing start, he was a little wary.

The younger one frowned, putting his hand down. He looked like a kicked puppy, and Castiel tried to squish down the immediate feeling of regret.

“We're not doing walk-ins this early in the morning.” He informed them. His eyes drifted back up to the older one, seemingly drawn to him. He was already looking, and they both stared at each other, unblinking.

“We're not actually here for that.” Sam said, and Castiel forced his eyes back down to him. Castiel's eyebrows raised. Suddenly, the words that came when he'd first opened the door came back to him, and they weren't just nonsensical and overshadowed by the fact that they were spoken from a pair of soft, pink lips.

“ _Oh_.” He breathed, stepping aside. He shot Missouri a look and she grabbed her coffee mug and stood, walking out to the garden. She didn't want to be a part of this.

Castiel had turned down a few people before. Only if he was considering taking them in would they meet Missouri, who he knew could tell whether or not they'd get along with the rest of the house. Plus, for the most part, she enjoyed spending her mornings alone.

“Come in.” He said, turning and walking towards the living room. His head was swirling, and he forced himself to keep his eyes facing forward so that he wouldn't look at that green-eyed man again.

_The Lovers_ glared up at him from his tarot table, seeming to mock him. 

“Sit.” He commanded, patting the table. He walked over to the cabinet and got two more mugs, filling them with hot water from the sink and grabbing two camomile teabags, plopping them in. He stayed facing the counter for a few moments more than necessary, working himself up to turn around again.

It was subtle, the feeling. But it was there, it was new, and his heart was pounding in odd ways. He had to stay calm, though. After all, this was just like any other emotion. Just some weird, uncomfortable fluke that he would have to adjust to.

He carried over the mugs, setting them in front of the brothers. He watched as Sam picked up the string, using it to swirl the tea bag around. The older one just stared at it, like it was someone who had insulted his mother.

“Not much for tea?” Castiel questioned. He looked up, seemingly startled. They held eye contact for what felt like too long, and Castiel suddenly became very aware of his breathing.

“I prefer coffee.” He replied, giving a small smile. He nudged the younger one, and Castiel forced his eyes to him.

“So, what brings you two here?” He questioned. “Why me?”

“You're Castiel, right?” Sam questioned. Cas nodded his head, impressed that he could tell. Most people assumed that Missouri was Castiel; after all, she got the most business, and handled most of the customers that came through the door. Mainly because she was the most talented individual in the house, but still. “Well, my friend Bobby sent us to you.”

The taller one interrupted. “Bobby gave us this place because we needed somewhere to go. Sam here has some powers that he doesn't know how to control, and we... We were in a bad situation.”

Castiel paused, processing this. He was more than familiar with “bad situations”.

“Dean,” Sam hissed. Oh, so _Dean_ was his name? Castiel thought that it suited him just fine. Bad-boy wannabe, in a leather jacket that smelled like gasoline. Dean sounded _just_ right. 

“No, it's fine. Tell me about it. Why did you have to leave?” He asked. Dean looked uncomfortable, but plowed through it. It sounded clipped, rehearsed. Like he wasn't used to giving away secrets.

“Our father was an asshat. He wasn't healthy for Sammy, and I got fed up. We're... We're looking for someplace where that won't happen. Bobby told me to tell you that, said something about you being able to understand.”

Castiel felt a flash of surprise. Of course, he knew Bobby. Bobby had helped him to sort all of this out when he was just starting to move out of his home. Bobby had been the one he'd asked his first questions to. In fact, Bobby had been a distant family friend throughout Castiel's life.

That, however, didn't mean that he trusted these boys. Bobby was a good man, but he took in too many strays.

“I do, yes. Could you describe to me what your powers consist of, Sam?” Castiel asked.

Well, he had to know that, first of all. He only had so many rooms in the house, and taking in these two would fill them up. Castiel couldn't take someone in if they ended up being essentially worthless to the team. Or, at least, he couldn't take in anyone  _else_ essentially worthless to the team. 

Gabriel had already filled that position when he'd decided to move in with Castiel a couple of years back.

“Well... I get visions.” He said. His eyes glazed over, refusing to make contact with Castiel's. Cas could tell that he was far off, somewhere else, lost in a land of remembrance. “I see things, like when people are gonna get sick, or that someone left the keys in the car. Just little stuff like that.”

“Do you have any control over these visions?” Castiel asked, softly. He didn't want to startle Sam, who seemed oddly fragile when talking about this.

“No, not really. But, I think I could. I've used it on purpose before, a couple of times.” He said, shrugging. “I don't have a lot of control over it yet.”

Castiel paused. “Sam, can you try something for me?”

Sam nodded his head, excited. Castiel stood up again, walking over to his cards and drawing the first four off the top of the deck. _Cat magic, The Empress, Two of Fire, Six of Sky_.

He shuffled them, fondly feeling their energy. He walked over to Sam, laying the cards in front of him, face up. This should show him, at the very least, whether or not he had any potential.

“I want you to feel the energy of each of those cards. When you believe you know them well, turn around.” Castiel said. Sam shot a scared look at Dean, and Dean's jaw flexed. Suddenly, Castiel felt annoyed.

He clearly didn't approve of this. Then again, it wasn't his job to. He couldn't just waltz in and wave Bobby's name around and expect a place to stay.

Sam, however, simply hovered his hands over the cards. He closed his eyes and his nose wrinkled in concentration as he passed his hand over each and every card, feeling the energy. He gave a deep sigh and opened up his eyes, giving Castiel a tentative nod before turning around. Dean stayed facing him as Castiel flipped them all over and switched their places, and Cas forced his eyes to stay on the table.

“Alright. Turn back around and please pick out _The Empress_ for me.” Castiel asked.

Sam turned around, gently allowing his hand to hover over the cards offered to him. Castiel watched as he tentatively pressed down on the correct card, pushing it towards him.

“Is this it?” Sam asked. Castiel smiled, a small bit.

“It is. If you'd like to fill out the application for housing here, I can look through it later tonight, and I can give you a tour of the grounds if you get accepted.”

“Is that a yes?” Sam asked, perking up. Castiel hesitated.

All in all, Missouri would make the final decision. But he believed that their conversation this morning, about needing new people, was a sign. Sure, it might take a little work to get him up to where he needed to be, but Castiel was more than willing.

“Not exactly.” He settled, rising from his chair and walking over to the office. It was a small room, barely large enough for a computer and his filing cabinets in it. “I'll be right back. You two stay there.” He requested.

The time alone gave him some time to think.

Holy _hell,_ Dean was... There weren't even words. Castiel didn't know why this had to happen to him, now of all times. He had never spared anyone else a two-second glance, but this? He could stare at Dean all day long, if he was implored to. He wasn't sure if what he was feeling was _actually_ attraction; his emotions were too loud, his thoughts of Sam wouldn't leave him alone, he just couldn't work it all out right then. Attraction, and lackthereof, is confusing, he'd found.

Finally, his small printer whirred to life. He picked up the warm paper, a fresh application ready to be filled out.

It was fairly short, mainly liability questions. Some medical history, full name, date of birth.

Castiel walked it out and slid it across the table to Sam, watching as he frowned.

“Is Dean going on this sheet too?” He asked, looking up. Castiel was hit with full-on puppydog eyes.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, feeling his stomach drop. “He's... Coming with you?”

Oh, he could tell that this was a bad idea. This was a very, very bad idea, so indescribably awful that Castiel couldn't think up a good enough synonym to use.

“He's my brother.” Dean said, shortly. Castiel felt a small flare of anger, and he turned towards him.

“You have nothing to offer this house. I'm sorry, but the chances we can offer you both hospice here are scarce. If you're looking for the homeless shelter, there's one down the street.” He announced. Dean's eyes widened, and Castiel could tell it was taking every ounce of his self control to remain quiet. For Sam's sake, most likely.

“But-” Sam started to argue. Castiel silenced him with a stern look.

Sam looked down, and began filling out the form. Castiel watched with an almost impassive disinterest, mainly to keep his eyes off of Dean.

Okay, so maybe he'd been a _little_ bit harsh. After all, it wasn't Dean's fault that Castiel's chest was a tight ball of nervous confusion right now.

Dean looked down at his hands, flexing his jaw like he had something to say. Castiel couldn't blame him, but he wouldn't take someone in who didn't have anything to offer.

Sam slid the application over to Castiel and gave him a small smile, dipping his head. Castiel pretended like he couldn't see how disappointed Sam was that Dean wasn't filling out an application as well, and stood.

Missouri whipped the sliding door open, waltzing in with her hands on her hips. She looked between Castiel and Sam, as if asking ' _are you done?_ '

“I can't wait any longer. I wanna talk to this one.” She announced, looking Sam up and down. Sam looked, for lack of a better term, absolutely flattered.

Castiel liked that.

“Yes, you can have him.” He said. Missouri waved a hand and Sam stood up, gratefully walking outside and onto the porch with her. Before she closed the door, she leaned back in, quickly.

“Sugar, being bitter ruins you. He's got a business to run, don't act like that.” She said. Dean looked absolutely scandalized, eyes wide and jaw open loosely.

And then, they were alone together.

~~~

Dean didn't even know what to do.

Sam was getting a place to stay, most likely. He was smart, outgoing, and clearly gifted. Obviously, the best choice would be to take him in. Dean was more than proud of him for that. But Dean had expected _both_ of them to be able to live there.

How would he keep an eye on Sam if they didn't even live in the same house? He'd been the one looking after him ever since they were fucking kids, he didn't want to leave Sam alone now. Christ, he didn't want to leave Sam alone, _period._

There was only one thing to do. He'd have to prove that he was worth something, that he had some kind of skill to offer. It might be a long shot, but maybe if he proved he was good at something, Castiel would decide to give him a chance?

He cleared his throat, gathered a few words, smiled a little bit, faking confidence. He opened his mouth, and what spilled over was, “Please take care of him.”

 _Please take care of him_. It sounded pathetic even to Dean, and he almost flinched. God, now he'd shown weakness in front of this asshole. Ugh, what kind of a person did that? He knew it was only because he got overly emotional in situations involving Sammy, but that didn't mean that he had an excuse to act like this.

Castiel's eyes widened in shock, and, to Dean's surprise, he seemed to soften. “You'll still be allowed to come and see him any time you wish.”

Dean felt a big ball of anxiety slowly begin to dissipate. Yeah, that would still suck, but seeing Sammy was overall his top concern. Bobby wouldn't let him send Sam to a crazy house. He trusted that, and he knew this place would be better for him than home. But that didn't mean that Sam was ready to be on his own like that.

The silence stretched on, and he settled into it. Castiel seemed tentative to do so, though, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. Dean scanned the kitchen while he waited for him to say it.

“I may have been a little harsh with you about staying here.” Castiel announced, nodding bashfully. Dean, all of a sudden, felt a small spark of affection. “I may have overreacted.”

“Thanks.” He said, stunned at the apology. Castiel seemed so... Put together, so sure of himself. Well, from what Dean had seen, anyways. But maybe he didn't have to be an asshole. Actually, the more time they spent together, even cloaked in silence, he could tell that Castiel was beginning to relax.

Maybe he was just nervous around new people?

Dean's eyes dropped to his hands to avoid staring. After all, staring at weirdly attractive, practical strangers wasn't the best way to get off on a good foot.

“So, this says that Sam is only seventeen years old. Is he planning on living here while he attends college as well?” Castiel questioned, eyebrows knitting together. Dean looked up from his hands, finding that Castiel was now hunched over and reading the application, eyes squinted.

“I'm not sure.” He said. “I know he wanted to go to Standford, but kids change their minds.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, sliding the application across the table and taking his tarot cards off the table, putting them back into place. Dean turned to watch as he walked, unable to control his curiosity.

He walked over to a small table, a bowl of water and a sugarskull placed lovingly on the table. There were a couple of small, tealight candles and one pillar candle that was clearly overflowing wax straight onto the table when it burned, but was currently unlit.

“What are you doing?” Dean questioned, itching to know. He knew that, theoretically, it would be better for him to shut up. Sammy was the one who was good with people, not him. And if he managed to piss this guy off, Sam might be the one to suffer for it.

“I'm doing a reading on whether or not I should accept your brother.” Castiel responded. Dean watched as he began to shuffle some cards, doubt rising within him.

He knew how these things worked, these parlor tricks. What Sammy did was real, sure, but these? It was all psychological.

Or, at least, he'd always thought that it was.

Castiel seemed so fluid as he shuffled, then pulled cards from random places in the deck. Dean watched as he fluidly placed them on the stand, one by one.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked. Castiel paused his movements.

“You just did.” He said, offering a subtle smile. Dean couldn't help but return it, feeling a little more at ease now.

“How does stuff like that work?” He questioned, looking at the cards. He was, after all, genuinely curious. Were fooling themselves, too? Did they really believe in this kinda stuff?

“It's... Complicated, so explain. Would you like to give it a try?” Castiel asked. Curiosity got the better of him, and Dean made a small sound of acceptance. Castiel walked over with the cards, setting them in front of Dean and pushing them a little closer to him.

Dean stared at them awkwardly for a second before he picked them up and separated them into two piles, bending them and releasing card by card until-

“NO!” Castiel said firmly, placing his hands on top of Dean's. Dean looked up at him sharply, startled by the loud exclamation. Warmth radiated from Castiel, from Castiel's hands, and Dean felt goosebumps rise on his skin. “I mean. You shouldn't bridge them, the deck finds it disrespectful.”

“Oh.” Dean said, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away. Castiel's hands slowly left his own to return to his sides, and he forced his blue eyes towards the far wall, away from Dean's. Dean gave himself a couple more seconds to process everything before he started to shuffle.

He kept shuffling, and shuffling, for what felt like forever. Finally, he decided to ask for help, instead of just doing that like a dumbass. “So, what is it exactly I'm supposed to be looking for?”

Castiel turned back, wide eyes looking back and forth between Dean and the deck.

“It's hard to explain, as many things in this field. The only way I'd explain it is that, if a card is resonating, it'll feel right to stop shuffling. It's almost like,” Castiel gave a small pause, looking into Dean's eyes. If there was ever a time Dean felt like he was overwhelmed by someone, it was now. “A spark.”

The moment was small, intimate. Dean smiled just a little bit, unable to tear his eyes from Castiel's. He knew he was giving Cas the look he usually gave women, and he'd had some small hints before that he might be capable of doing that to a dude, but he'd never actually had the guts to flirt.

Maybe it was getting out from under their father, maybe it was how weirdly familiar this guy felt. Dean didn't know, and in that handful of seconds, he didn't really care.

He was at a really confusing point in his life. There was no use questioning it.

Suddenly, the sound of the screen door opening broke them out of their state. Castiel reached out and took the tarot cards back from Dean, mumbling as he walked back to the desk and set them down.

~~~

Missouri gave him _the look_. He knew the one. Sam had passed with flying colors, and she fully expected Castiel to give him a resounding “yes”.

“Well, I believe we're done here, sugar. Unless you wanted me to interview this one here, too?” She asked, looking at Dean. Dean puffed up, like a cat that's just been approached by a great dane. “He seems a little eager to prove himself.”

Dean held his tongue, looking at Sam. His jaw clenched again, and Castiel took note that it was, apparently, one of his favorite things to do. Getting angry and then pretending like he wasn't, that is.

“Missouri.” He said, shaking his head. Missouri shrugged, side-glancing back at Dean.

“You know, the kitchen sink needs fixed. The oil needs changed in the cars, and the door to Balthazar's room is almost off its hinges. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to keep a handy man around?” She asked, looking directly at Dean. Her hands were on her hips. “Even one with a bad attitude.”

Dean opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but apparently, thought better of it. He turned to Castiel, a new kind of hope in his eyes.

Castiel gritted his teeth and tried not to glare at Missouri. Great, now she'd given him _hope._ Castiel could only deal with letting so many people down a day, and he'd long ago met his threshold.

Sam's puppy eyes were terrible.

This was a bad, bad idea. Attraction, especially if it was something between him and the brother of one of his employees, would only be bad news. Castiel knew that he last thing he should do is be letting this man stay with them. Especially since he was already certain that Dean would be filling up every role in his fantasies for the next ten years.

However, Missouri did have a point. And Dean's puppydog eyes turned out to be even worse than Sam's, and Castiel barely had the heart in him to separate the two the first time.

He walked over to his office, the chant _why me_ growing ever stronger in his head as he did. He retrieved another form and carried it out to the table, sliding it across to Dean.

Dean had a triumphant smirk, as if he'd already gotten the position. It almost made Castiel's temples throb.

“Do you two have a place to stay tonight?” He asked. Sam nodded his head, enthusiastically. “Good. Then when you're done filling out those forms, I'd like you to leave. We need to have a house meeting. You'll come back tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp for your tours. And you,” He said, looking at Dean. He added this part in last minute, and a part of him felt vindictive. “When you're not tending to repairs, you'll be helping me with my customers. Do we have a deal?”

Dean nodded, and a small part of Castiel screamed at him that he'd just made the worst decision of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always good!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to update again ;_; I have a hard time forcing myself to write sometimes! I have a very stressful weekend. The good news is that Fall Break is coming up, so I should be able to work on this story like mad then.

The stairs creaked as Sam made his way downstairs, bags heavy in his hands. Dean had already warned him that they probably weren't going to end up staying there that night, but Sam insisted on taking his things just to be sure.

They'd have to come back for Dean's stuff if they were accepted that day, anyways. It wasn't like he could just magically wave his wand and teleport everything there-(and he was fairly sure that Castiel couldn't, either) so taking Sam's stuff was entirely useless.

“I'm just more prepared than you.” He argued, shoving the door open with his shoulder.

Suddenly, the owner of the little house, Donna, came running out.

“Oh, are you two boys gonna be back for breakfast?” She asked, smiling. “I have somethin' real good I'm whipping up. And pie for dessert!”

“Dessert with breakfast?” Sam asked, tilting his head. Suddenly, Donna's partner swung around, a hand raised casually to lean against the carved wood of the door frame.

“Her idea, not mine.” Jody said, her sheriff's badge glinting.

Dean knew that Bobby was a friend of theirs, (who wasn't Bobby friends with? _Jesus_ , that man got around) and he knew that they were now, as of a week ago, officially married. He'd learned that on his first night here; though rushed and tired, Donna did make sure they were still greeted at the door when they got there.

“Pie?” Dean asked, perking up. The one thing he wanted more than anything right then was a slice of warm, gooey-

“Pecan, too.” Donna chipped.

 _Pecan_ pie. Dean wanted Pecan pie.

But breakfast didn't start until ten o'clock at the little inn, and he knew they'd most likely still be at Castiel's during that time. After all, from the size of the house, their tour would take a little longer than standard house tour.

Not to mention all the meeting people, and awkward introductions, and Dean feeling just a _little_ bit like a charity case because he didn't really have all that much to offer and he was still being taken in. Yeah, this humiliation nightmare would definitely last longer than an hour.

He hadn't even thought about the weird, half-defined energy between him and Castiel yet. He'd been shoving it back in his mind as far as it would go, inside of a little tiny closet labeled, “ _Definitely Not Gay Thoughts_ (TM)”. Besides, he barely even knew the guy. The guy, who was most likely straight.

“Man, I'd love to make it back in time.” He said, shaking his head. Sam interrupted.

“We're gonna be at Castiel's Home. Sorry, but we won't be back until around lunch.” He announced. Donna immediately perked up, hand reaching up to cover her mouth as she let out a gasp.

“Castiel? He brings in half of our business, dontchya know. People come here from all around to see him and his friends! Well, you two boys have fun then!” She said, waving them out the door. Dean was still recovering from the loss of Donna's peacan pie when she leaned forward and added, “Don't worry, I'll save you two a couple-a pieces for when you get back.”

“Thanks, Donna!” Dean shouted over his shoulder, smiling. He allowed himself to be ushered out the door, jogging over to the impala and climbing in. Sam's stuff went in the back seat and he climbed up front, reaching for the radio.

Dean smacked his hand away, looking Sam in the eyes as Sam pretended like the hit had hurt.

“Jerk.” Sam mumbled. Dean could still see the hint of a smile he was trying to cover up.

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole, bitch.” Dean announced, proudly. He pressed the “play” button on the cassette player and relaxed as the sounds of Led Zeplin flowed through the speakers. Whenever he listened to music like this, he could always relax, could always detach himself from what was happening around him.

It was easier and cheaper than therapy or online gaming, and this? He could do this anywhere. Baby was a permanent part of him. No internet or appointment required; whenever he felt overwhelmed, he could just walk out, shut the door, crank the music up, and relax.

The drive to Castiel's home was short and scenic; the town was all hustle-and-bustle, with bright flowers and bright smiles and well-maintained buildings. Castiel's house was just a couple of minutes worth of driving away from the small town, which Dean knew was clogged with tourism during the summer months.

He also knew that that was gonna hit pretty soon. In fact, Castiel had probably thought that they were part of the first wave when they showed up yesterday.

The house was just as striking the second time around. The walls stretched up two floors (not including an attic), and the house lazily sprawled across the lawn like a cat in sunlight. It was clearly large, and the flowers in fresh bloom only served to add to the ornate feeling. It seemed very well-maintained, and the parking lot was large enough for twelve cars.

Four of the spaces were already filled up. A couple of vans and a larger truck took up most of the space, next to what Dean thought was one of the shabbiest cars he'd ever seen. Seriously, Pimp-mobile. He didn't know who it belonged to, but it had been there yesterday, too. He'd thought it was a customer's, at the time.

“You're a little tense.” Sam remarked, smiling lazily as Dean shut off the car. Dean forced himself to relax and sent Sam a sarcastic smile.

“That's because I'm trying to decide which baby story to tell everyone about you first. It's just so difficult to decide between the bed wetting or accidentally pushing your first crush down the slide,” Dean said, pretending to be exasperated. “Then again, that thing with the petting zoo and the Llamas is pretty funny, too.”

“ _Dude._ ” Sam said, accusingly. Dean laughed, throwing his head back and feeling his muscles untense. Sam (and, maybe even himself) were going to love it here, he couldn't let himself get worried about everything before it even happened. He should be _excited._ Or, at the very least, happy for Sam.

Castiel opened the door before Dean even raised his hand to knock. His wide, blue eyes met Dean's, and Dean suddenly felt awkward again.

“Good morning. Sam, Dean.” He addressed, stepping aside. Dean stepped in after him, unsure if he was supposed to kick his shoes off at the door or not. Not that he cared, of course. Because it wasn't manly to think about taking off your shoes when you walked into someone's house.

Was it?

He looked down to see that Castiel was barefooted, and he decided to take off his shoes after all. He gave them a firm kick and placed them against the wall, turning to see Sammy doing the same. It seemed to be the proper etiquette, from the four other pair of shoes beside the door.

“Some of our usual residents have decided to... Take a trip into town, so as not to overwhelm you.” Castiel announced, turning and walking up the stairs. There was a small, yellow sign taped onto the railing that read, “ _No Customers Beyond This Point Without an Escort_ ”. Dean gestured for Sam to follow ahead of him, and fell into step behind.

The stairs creaked as the three of them went up, Castiel clutching the railing as he did. Dean had to admit that they _were_ pretty steep, and he was a little winded when he got to the top. Maybe Sam had a point about the two of them needing to do a little more cardio.

Not that he'd ever admit it to that kid's face. He still thought that the whole “health” thing was a little out of control, with Sam insisting that he preform “portion control” on himself and ordering salad instead of fries. Dean was pretty sure it was a phase. Sam would probably be over it by next year.

“So, these are our personal rooms.” Castiel announced. They came to the top of a narrow hallway, with doors flanking either side. Dean watched in fascination as they passed them; name plates were nailed on, and some of the names were absolutely outrageous.

Crowley, Gabriel, Pamela, Missouri, _Rowena_? He didn't know what to think, other than that whoever named these babies had a creative imagination and too much free time.

Castiel kept walking, and a door swung open, almost hitting him in the face.

A man stepped out, honey-golden hair practically radiant in the light from the window at the end of the hall. He smiled crookedly, leaning against the door frame with ease and appraising him and Sam.

“Hey. So this is the fresh meat?” Gabriel asked. Or at least, Dean assumed it was Gabriel. That was the name that was on the door he'd opened.

“I thought you'd gone to be a pest with the others.” Castiel asked, but there was no venom in it. More sarcasm, like a playful banter. Gabriel seemed to ignore his comment.

He reached out around Castiel, and stuck out a hand for Sam to shake. Sam did so, and the hand shifted towards Dean. He stared at it, unsure of whether or not he _wanted_ to take it.

This guy seemed just a little bit douchey. Not a lot, but enough that Dean might not want to touch that hand until he was sure he knew where it had been.

“Well then, tall dark and mysterious, I guess I'll give my handshake to someone friendlier.” He said. He retracted his hand and stuck it out to Castiel, who simply stared. Gabriel's mouth dropped open in offense, and Dean felt his lip twitch upwards. Somehow, Castiel refusing to shake his hand felt a little like an odd sort of approval. Like his own, dorky way of letting Dean know that he liked him.

“Gabriel, go back in your room.” Castiel said, pointing. Gabriel _did_ pout this time, giving Castiel wide puppydog eyes.

“Come on! New people are awesome, and you _know_ I'm more friendlier than you _._ ” Gabriel argued. Castiel visibly rolled his eyes and put his hands on Gabriel's shoulders, turning him around and pushing him through the door.

“You have the poorest grammar I've ever heard.” Castiel huffed, then shut the door. He looked back over his shoulder at Dean and Sam. “I'm sorry if he startled you. My brother can be a bit overwhelming sometimes.”

“That's your _brother_?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. There was certainly no family resemblance there, he could tell that much. Not the sex-hair, not the full, pouty lips, not the dazzling blue eyes that shone like they were piercing into his soul...

“We're... A little different.” Castiel said, with a hint of a smile. “However, I can understand the familial fondness you and Sam seem to share. He is, however annoying, one of my favorite people on this planet.”

“That seems to be pretty easy to do with you.” Dean teased, leaning against a wall. Castiel huffed a small chuckle, and shook his head, before turning back around and continuing his walk down the hallway. They stopped in front of an unmarked door, and he pushed it open.

“That's because you very quickly pushed yourself onto the dislike list.” He said, stepping aside.

The room was fairly large. There were a couple of high windows, and a screen door leading out to a balcony with some small, black chairs and a table that would never be big enough for food. A couch and board games and card games were stacked on one side, where a television with a Xbox and games and movies stacked below it sat on the right side of the room.

“This is what we consider the family room. There's usually someone in here. For awhile, we did game nights on Fridays, but during the on season we typically don't have the time.” He announced. Dean thought that this _might_ be a wet dream. After all, the Xbox had four controllers. _Four_. 

“Dude, this is _sweet_.” He announced, taking a few steps and turning around. The walls were a nice, off-white that somehow looked a little less old than the rest of the house. Not that the rest of the house was bad, of course.

“I'm glad you think so. The bathroom is directly across the hall from this, and we have a thirty minute rule.” Castiel said, nodding.

“Thirty minute rule?” Sam mimicked, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You have exactly that long to take your shower and get out. There are only two bathrooms in this house and there are eight people, so we can't all take showers as long as we'd like. Many of us have adjusted to taking ten minutes or less.” Castiel said, swinging out of the room. Dean noticed the way he moved; with grace, poise, as though he'd been putting on a show his entire life.

Maybe he had. After all, his customers seemed to come back more often than not, from what Dean had read. You don't get that kind of thing from being a stick-in-the-mud, you have to know how to handle people.

“Of course, some of us still break the rules.” Castiel continued. It was them that Dean realized he was being left behind, and had to scramble forward to catch up. Somehow, he'd stopped walking while he was deep in thought (fuck multitasking). “For example, Gabriel took a bubble bath that lasted three hours last week. I finally threatened to take away his house key if he didn't get out.”

A distant, echoey, “ _But they're relaxing!_ ” Came from behind Gabriel's door, and Dean realized he'd been listening in. From the small, smug smile that Castiel gave, he guessed that he'd known it as well.

“This would be your room, Sam.” Castiel said, pushing the door open. However, he kept walking, pushing open the door at the end of the hallway and stopping in front of it. “And this would be yours, Dean.”

Sam immediately ran into his new space to investigate, and Dean took a small peak inside. It looked fairly standard, with light-blue walls and little ocean waves hand-painted across the top. He continued on, deciding to leave Sammy to his own devises, and walked forward to look at his room.

Well, it wasn't a color he would have picked, that's for sure.

A beautiful, golden-coral stood out against the walls. Going along with the nautical theme in Sam's room, there were little sea shells painted on the top of the walls. The bed was large and lavish, with a blue comforter stretched across and a pink pillow in the shape of a heart. An anatomically correct heart, in fact.

“Is there any way I could repaint this?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the pinkish walls. Castiel's eyebrows pulled together.

“Why?” He questioned. Dean stuttered a bit, and he felt his face begin to warm up. Castiel interrupted, “Each individual person's room is paying homage to a God or Goddess. You ended up in the Aphrodite room. I suppose we could paint over it, but it may cause negative repercussions for you.”

“So you're saying that repainting my bedroom might piss off a Goddess?” Dean asked.

“It might, yes. However, you could always leave offerings in place of the paint.” Castiel said, patting the door frame lightly. Dean looked again at the soft pink color, and the deep, rich blue of the bed sheets. He supposed he could make due.

After all, knowing him, he knew that he'd done enough to piss off the Goddess of Love anyways. Enough one night stands, enough ' _yeah sure I'll totally call you later'_ s.

Not that he really believed in any of that stuff (of course not, it was a dead religion, after all), but Castiel clearly did. And, honestly, asking to repaint the room might make him upset, or imply that he had bad taste or something. That was the last thing that Dean wanted.

“Nope, it's all good. Different, but... I'll get used to it.” Dean said. Then, his tone turned joking as he said, “I don't know, though. I think the pink room might fit Sam a little bit better what with how floppy his hair's getting. He's practically a girl now.”

“It's not even down to my ears yet!” Sam argued, sticking his head out of the room. Dean knew that the only reason he'd even cut it was because their dad made him, and he knew Sam was gonna have the hair out of fucking Braveheart if Dean let him.

Dean would definitely let him. Sam was old enough to make his own damn decisions, and especially ones about his hair. That didn't mean, however, Dean would _ever_ stop teasing him about it.

“I never did understand assigning colors to genders.” Castiel said, suddenly. Dean turned to see him, and his face gave away that he was clearly serious. “Then again, I never really understood the concept of gender in general.”

“Really?” Dean questioned, his voice raising an octave. He wasn't a hundred percent sure what that meant, but... Well, if he was “gender-blind”, then wouldn't that mean that he liked boys and girls?

“Yes. It's odd to me.” Castiel said, as though he'd just said nothing out of the ordinary. Dean tried to ignore how that got his hopes up. He really, really shouldn't be excited over finding out that his new, witchy landlord might be willing to swing his way.

Not that Dean was even willing to swing that way, of course.

“Dean?” Sam edged. He had a specific kind of smile on his face, a kind of look he only got when he wanted something. Dean almost groaned.

“What do you want? Don't give me those eyes.” He warned. Sam broke out into a grin.

“Do you think I could stay here and unpack my stuff while you go back and get yours?” Sam questioned. Dean almost put his face in his hands.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to tell his little brother no. Sammy got what Sammy wanted from here on out, (within reason) and Dean knew he deserved it. He deserved a sense of home, a sense of security he'd been robbed of all of their life. He deserved to be able to unpack and get settled in and know that this new place was his, for once.

“Donna is making pie, dude.” He tried to reason.

“Donna?” Castiel asked, perking up. Dean suddenly remembered what a small town it was.

“That's right. She said that you two know each other?” Dean questioned.

“I-” Castiel began, but found himself immediately interrupted.

“That's perfect!” Sam exclaimed. “Castiel can go with you, so you two can get to know each other and the pie won't go to waste. Plus, I'm pretty sure Cas knows the way, so you won't accidentally set the GPS on fire. Again.”

“That was one damn time- and, Sammy, I don't know if Cas would even _want_ , I mean, he might not even _like_ pie.” Dean said, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. Gosh, this was embarrassing. Here he was, acting like a schoolgirl with some kind of a weird crush.

He really needed to nip whatever odd attraction this was in the ass before it started to cause him problems. Not that it was attraction, really. It was just... Well, admiration. Castiel was, after all, taking him and his brother in, and he was just feeling grateful.

Dean felt much better, now that he'd put his finger on it. It could stop bothering him now, hopefully.

“I love Donna's baked goods. If... If that would be acceptable to you, I see no reason not to go together. I had business to attend with her anyways.” Castiel said, nodding his head submissively. Dean could tell that he was being given the choice, and he had pressure on both ends. Castiel needed to get business done, and Sam wanted to stay.

“Alright.” He finally relented. Sam pumped his fist into the air and immediately ran out of his room and down the stairs, the wood squeaking in disrepair as he stomped down them. Dean almost flinched at the harsh, grating sound.

“That's the first thing I'm fixing.” He said. Castiel pouted.

“It gives the house character.” He mumbled. Dean felt butterflies—er, _gratefulness_ , begin to fly around in his stomach.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments. They're my lifeblood.


	4. chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Fall break this week, and I have a special surprise; I'm going on a writing binge! Unfortunately, it won't be for this story, as I need to write my Christmas special beforehand for what I have planned. But, if you're a fan of my fiction, this could still mean you get to read something~ I'm looking for some screening Betas to run things past! Basically, just read it and tell me if it makes sense. No experience necessary, if you're interested, message me on tumblr at MysticMoonhigh.

Once they were in the car, the steering wheel felt foreign in Dean's hands. Like he'd never felt the texture, almost. Like, all of a sudden, the texture was _all_ he could focus on. As if this was his first time feeling it, and all he could do was rub his hands awkwardly over the wheel like this was his very _first_ time ever-

“Are you going to start the car?” Castiel teased, from the passenger seat. At least, Dean supposed he was teasing. He deadpanned the line, but he had that small smirk at the corner or his lips that gave him away.

Those large, beautiful, pouty lips that-

Dean jammed the key in the car, mainly to cut off his own thinking. The radio picked up where they had left off, and Castiel seemed fairly nonchalant about the sudden sound blaring through the speakers. Dean was a little surprised; Cas didn't look like the kinda guy who would be tolerant of rock music.

That, and he kinda reminded Dean of a cat. Like anything unexpected would make him jump and run out of the room at light-speed.

Then again, they were living in a house full of nine people. Dean could imagine that, at times, the house got pretty damn loud. (That was gonna take some adjustment on his and Sam's parts). Cas had probably gotten used to both noise and surprises.

They drove out of the driveway, Dean careful to not let the impala accelerate too fast. Castiel had never ridden in his baby before, and he deserved the full, soft-engine-purr, beautiful scenery, cruise-through-the-neighborhood experience.

He rolled down the windows, and turned down the radio. Dean found that things felt like they _should_ be quiet with Cas, even if he didn't seem to mind the noise. It just felt uncomfortable.

His head was swimming with questions, anyways. Mostly, ones about how he meant what he'd said about not understanding gender. In fact, right now, that comment was _all_ Dean could think about.

It was driving him fucking nuts. Every other thought ended up about Cas, and he knew he had to get this question out of the way, preferably _before_ he drove himself insane with curiosity over it.

“So... Earlier,” He began, turning over to look at Castiel. Castiel's face was one of almost -contemplation. Dean almost wondered what was on his mind, but knew that he probably wouldn't understand. Castiel seemed so... Complex.

“What about earlier?” Castiel questioned. Dean realized then that he'd been staring for much too long, wordlessly watching Castiel. Okay, so now he felt a little creepy. He forced his eyes back onto the road, clutching the wheel tighter.

“You said something about gender? And not understanding the concept?” Dean elaborated, taking a hand off the wheel and making several vague hand gestures that Dean himself wasn't even sure he understood himself. He thought he was acting pretty chill, though, all things considered.

“Yes. I feel disconnected from the entire thing.” Castiel confirmed. Dean felt nerves begin to rise. Castiel sounded a little pissy about the question, and Dean wasn't sure what that meant.

“Well... What do you mean by that?” Dean questioned, then quickly added, fumbling over his words, “I mean, hey, if you like dudes, I'm all down for that. Well, not “all down for that”, like, _all down for that_ , I mean, uh... you do you. Who am I to judge?” He finished, feeling like a massive idiot.

“You're connecting my words on gender to sexual orientation. They're two separate things.” Castiel said, smoothly. Dean felt his eyebrows knit together.

“Could you... Clarify a little on that?” Dean asked, after a pause.

“Well, as comforting as it is to find that I didn't invite a bigot to live with me, you were referencing attraction. Gender is something else entirely. It's a feeling. What makes you a man, or a woman. Or in some cases, both. In my case, neither. It's how you feel about your body and how others perceive you. For example, transgendered people feel as though their gender doesn't match up with their sex at birth, but is rather on the other end of the spectrum. I identify as neither man nor woman. The entire concept of gender is foreign to me. I'm agendered.” Castiel said.

“That's...” Dean said. He wasn't quite sure what to think, now. What did Castiel mean? “Confusing.”

“I understand. It can be overwhelming to digest all at once. I would encourage you to take your time.” He said, calmly. Dean's head was reeling from all the new information.

“Okay,” He said, after a few minutes of silence, “So you don't feel like a boy, and you don't feel like a girl, but you feel like you're... Neither?”

“It's a little more complicated than that, but essentially, yes. I feel as though I have no gender.” Castiel said. Dean couldn't help but wonder...

“So you're not... Female, are you? I mean, not that I'd have a problem with it, I'm just curious.” Dean asked. If Castiel was female, would that explain his attraction?

Probably not. Castiel still presented as male. Was it offensive to think like that, anyways? Dean didn't think so, but then again, he wasn't exactly an expert.

“I'm not female, no. I prefer male pronouns over any others, as well. They/them gets confusing and the other neutral pronouns are just difficult to pronounce.” Castiel said. He sounded vaguely amused, and Dean wondered if his real reasoning for asking that question was transparent. “My sexuality, of course, is another matter entirely.”

The curiosity was there again, itching. Dean knew he had to scratch it.

“So, what's the deal with that, then? If you don't mind me asking.” He said. Castiel chuckled, and it sounded warm, comforting.

“I'm grey-ace, I believe. It means that I very rarely experience sexual attraction. In fact, it's only ever happened to me once.” There was something in Castiel's tone, some kind of an implication Dean couldn't quite understand.

Dean's stomach sank. Oh. He knew he was good looking, above average in most ways. But Castiel was probably talking about Megan Fox or some shit. There was no way that Dean could ever get up to that bar, no matter how much he tried to work out.

Why was he even thinking about this? It's not like he liked the guy, anyways.

“Aaah. So, what do you do on the dating front? Just, not?” He asked. Because he had to ask, and Dean could never tell when to keep his mouth shut about things.

“No, no dating. I've never found myself romantically attracted to anyone before.” Castiel said, plainly. Dean nodded his head, looking out the window again and trying to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed, because there would be no reason for him to be disappointed.

“That's... Do you ever get lonely?” Dean asked. Castiel gave a small chuckle.

“No. I have my brother, my family. Or, at least, the family I've made for myself.” Castiel said, sounding peaceful. Dean liked the tranquil quality that his voice had. He seemed more than happy, like his life was a blanket of calm. Dean could use a little bit of that.

“So, uh, Bobby never told me what happened with your actual family. What's up with that?” Dean asked. “I mean, you and Gabriel seem to get along fine.”

“I'd rather not talk about it.” Castiel said. For the first time, Dean heard real, true sadness in his voice. He fucking hated the way it sounded on Cas's lips. Like it didn't fit.

“Sorry.” He said, glancing over. Castiel's head was turned towards the window, moving slightly as he watched the fields and forests and houses go by. Dean gave a sigh and turned back to the road, knowing that they were close.

It didn't take all that much longer to get to Donna's. A few minutes and they were pulling into the gravel driveway, the sound of rocks crunching beneath the tires breaking up the silence. Dean yanked the keys out of the ignition and turned to Cas. “You comin?”

“Of course I'm coming.” He bitched back, smirking. “I wouldn't have suffered through riding in this infernally loud contraption if I didn't intend on coming inside.”

Dean froze in absolute shock, his jaw dropping. “Oh, you did not just diss baby.” He announced. Castiel got out of the car without another word, and Dean walked after him. “She's a  _ Classic _ !”

“She's a gas-guzzler, that's what she is.” Castiel teased back.

“You're joking.” Dean said. He jogged to catch up to Castiel's large steps, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder. “C'mon, man. You're pulling my leg.”

“I'm sorry. I seem to lack the unbridled enthusiasm you have for an inanimate object. Shall I give you two some alone time?” Castiel questioned. Dean felt a blush rise and color his cheeks.

“You'd... LIKE to, give us some... Alone time...” Dean tried, and failed, at creating a comeback. Castiel turned towards him and his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Well there, what do we have here?!” Donna squeed, the door opening so fast the gust of wind almost knocked her over. Dean smiled, feeling the awkwardness of the moment begin to dissolve. Castiel smiled, a small smile, and nodded at her. “Come in, come in. I baked two extra pies, because I got a tad bit excited. I was gonna ask Dean to bring them back for your family, Cas.”

“That's quite thoughtful, Donna.” Castiel responded, warmly. Dean could tell that they shared a special kind of familiarity, and he felt the tiniest bit left out watching them.

He knew it would come, though. He'd never been around anyone long enough to develop that ease, that sense of belonging that some people got from staying in one place, putting down roots. Dean didn't know if he'd ever get that, honestly.

Every time he'd started to love something, someone, it had been viciously torn away from him. They had to move for whatever crazy reason their half-drunken father had come up with, and they were across the country the next goddamned day. Dean didn't know if he even still had roots capable of growing, they'd been torn out of the ground so many times. He didn't want to get attached to anything else, because it seemed like he always lost it before long.

“Well, you boys want some pie or what?” She questioned, turning around and strutting back into her dining room. It was full of chairs; Dean was certain that at least twenty people would be able to show up and eat here and nobody would be without a chair.

Even when it was large, it could never seem impersonal. Everything was close together, from the chairs to the little gas-fireplace in the corner to the sheer yellow curtains covering the windows. Dean smiled as Donne pulled out a chair for him, right in front of a slice of pie.

He sat down, immediately picking up his fork and digging in.

He let out an enthusiastic sound, practically moaning around the fork. Donna pat his head and he looked up, giving her a dopey smile with his mouth still full. He was rewarded with a rich laugh.

“You're a hoot, Dean.” She told him, fondly. Then, she turned to Castiel. “You'd better make sure he gets some of that pie I'm sending with you.”

“I will.” Castiel said, pristinely. He hadn't even picked up his fork yet, but Dean could tell that he was pleased. He was probably just one of those people who preferred to savor their food.

“Well, I'll be back in just a jiffy. You two finish up now.” She announced, before flouncing out of the room. In the distance, Dean could hear a muffled, “Jody, Darlin, I want a kiss!”

Dean kept eating, still unable to control his enthusiastic sounds. The crust was just flakey enough, the pie itself warm and delightful, the brown sugar mingling with the pecans just right. He finished the entire thing in just a couple of bites, scraping the excess filling off the plate with his fork.

He looked up, and Castiel wasn't even eating. His eyes were trained intently on Dean, face slightly flushed, lips slightly parted.

“Do you always make those sounds when you eat?” He asked. Dean licked his fork and made a face that he _knew_ was immature, but Castiel just looked lost.

“Only when it's pie.” He reassured. Suddenly, and he wasn't sure just why, the room felt a little awkward. He stood up, clearing his throat, and looked down at Castiel. “I'm gonna go up to my room and get my stuff.”

“Alright.” Castiel said. He finally picked up his fork, and Dean assumed he had something about eating in front of people.

With a shrug, Dean went up the stairs to grab his things. This wouldn't take too long, and when they finally went back home, they would arrive with pie in tote. Dean couldn't see what could possibly go wrong.

~~~

Castiel tossed, turned, curled up. He could feel a sheen of sweat on his face, and he didn't know why, because he felt _cold_. Not freezing, but definitely not the warmth that August offered in Tennessee.

He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't _see_ anything. Well, anything _real._

Castiel was smart enough to know when he was dreaming. Of course, it had taken him awhile to get there in the first place, but that was neither here nor there.

No, _here_...

_Sunlight filtered through the leaves, crimson and a rich brown and pale yellow all swirling into a fall painting, stretching across the sky. It was loud, and chilly. He felt a jolt of agitation as the wind tousled his hair._

_A warm hand on his back, and he turned. Green eyes, warm as a summer meadow but with just the right amount of brown mixed in. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't hide the grin that came over his face._

“ _You're early.” He said, turning towards Dean. Or, at least, this man_ looked _exactly like Dean. Castiel could never be quite sure, through the haze. Nothing was distinct, nothing was certain, when he dreamt. Everything felt like a veil was drawn over it, casting a shadow over everything visible, and sometimes, audible._

_But then, clear as a bell, he heard Dean's voice. Hot breath caressed his ear as Dean responded, “I told you I wouldn't let you wait. You're beautiful, you know that?”_

_Castiel felt a shiver go down his spine, the physical sensations of everything all too real for him. Dean's hand shifted a little on his lower back, and an almost-foreign heat licked its way up his spine. It was the most intimate way he'd ever been touched, and gods, he wanted to soak it up and roll around in it, roll around in Dean._

_Dean lead him over to a small group of children, five or six waiting. He smiled at them as they sat, and Castiel could tell that he was going to give them a story. Castiel knew, somehow, that the children had been waiting for a long time for this._

_Dean began his tale soft and vivid, his voice like honey oozing out of an overturned jar. There was a certain kind of humor in it, like he was going to tell something not-quite true, a fantasy based on an inside joke. He began, “It all started with an angel...”_

Castiel's body finally listened, and his eyes snapped open. He stumbled out of his bed and to the wall, gritting his teeth as he dealt with the sudden warmth of his skin. He closed his eyes and shook his head, the sweltering heat almost making him dizzy.

This entire thing was all Dean Winchester's fault. Castiel was so... _confused, conflicted,_ possibly even... _aroused,_ with him around. In fact, when Dean had began to make those delicious, lewd sounds while eating that pecan pie, Castiel had actually felt a warm heat begin to build, dancing over his skin like he was a little too close to playing with fire. Castiel had a sex drive, sure, but not an active one. And never before had it responded to something another  person did. It was confusing and amazing and awful all at the same time. Maybe that was why this dream had felt so much more vivid than his dreams usually did?

He reached for the door handle. He'd woken up like this a few times before, when his dreams took slightly sour turns, or were especially vivid. This one had felt so real, he couldn't even fathom that he'd actually been asleep. It had felt like he was... re-living a memory.

Of course, he would never tell Missouri that. She would immediately jump into her crazy theories about Castiel and past lives, and he didn't want to get into that with her this morning. Or any morning.

Come to think of it, what time _was_ it?

Castiel walked downstairs and looked at the clock, squinting his eyes against the dim light. Although he admittedly slept with a little light in his room, it wasn't as glaring as the microwave or stove.

“Well, well, well.”

Castiel jumped, halfway through his surprise turning into dread. He grimaced. “How are you, Missouri?”

“Don't gimme that bullshit. You're my best friend and you _know_ I'm yours. I expect you to spill without me reading your mind.” She informed him. He turned to see that her hands had been placed on her wide hips, and all her weight was on one of her legs, the other raised so that she took up as much room as possible. He could tell that there was no escape to this one.

Besides, she was right. Castiel had been affronted by Missouri at first, even flat-out afraid of how strong her powers were. But the benefit outweighed his discomfort, and he let her on the team. In fact, she was the first person he'd ever allowed to move into the house with him. Twenty people had applied the first time he'd put out applications, and she was the only one he knew wasn't faking.

“I had a dream.” He said, plainly. Missori raised her eyebrow, as though she could tell that this was going to be a long story.

“Do you want me to make you some tea while you tell it?” She asked, gesturing over to the tea cabinet. Castiel felt a wave of gratitude wash over him.

“I would love that.” He said. He bit his lip, thinking about how the heat of the night still seemed to dance across his skin. “Although, if you could open the window, that would be even better.”

“How about both?” Missouri asked, pushing past him. She turned back a little, raising her eyebrows. “You gonna sit down and start talking, or what?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment? I love all my readers and have fun stuff planned ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, everyone! This story has been taking forever to update, I know, and I apologize. But I'm going to attempt (notice how it says "attempt") to start updating at least once a week from here on out, and more often once Christmas is over with. (I'm writing a Christmas fic. It's taking up time.) Please in the mean time enjoy this chapter and also maybe shower me with love? That would be nice as well.

Dean wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. This was the most hectic he'd ever seen a house; people were running around, bustling about, lining up for the bathroom. Even though they had a large driveway, there were cars flooding out onto the lawn.

Every which way he turned, there was a task being shoved at him. Someone broke the faucet in the sink, the bathroom is out of air freshener, Castiel needed him to go and get a new tarot deck for him to work with because this one was “tired” (whatever the fuck that meant). Dean was on the move, weaving in and out of people and doing little jobs all day long.

He swore he was doing more running around than actual fixing. Which, of course, is what he'd been expecting his job to _be_.

It would be one thing if it was just Castiel asking for favors. But it seemed like all the other psychics, (or at least, the ones he'd met so far, which still hadn't been everyone) once they saw he was running Castiel's errands, decided to jump in to torment him. Missouri needed a crystal ball out of the closet, Pamela (nice, hot, slightly overzealous Pamela) needed some special tea to do tea leaf readings, (Don't ask Dean how she saw them, since she was _blind_ ,) or Rowena needed some new bay leaves for good luck spells.

Admittedly, her accent was charming. However, he wasn't sure of her as a person. She seemed a little... Cold? Unfeeling? Were those the words?

Anyways, he didn't fucking sign up for this. He was too scared to say something because he was, technically, a charity case. He paused his current task of grabbing more vials for a potion and ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He reached up to grab the bottles, afraid that if someone saw him taking a small break, they would tell Castiel that he was being lazy. As much as it pained him to keep going like this, he _had_ to do these little tasks, if he wanted to stay with Sammy. And he _had_ to stay with Sammy.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked. Dean jumped, his voice surprising. He almost dropped the vials in his hands like a total dumbass, but barely managed to save it last-second. Castiel seemed unamused, which Dean supposed would be better than laughing and pointing. Then again, he'd never really been-

“HAHAHAHA!” Gabriel proclaimed, pointing his finger as he walked into the kitchen. “Get wrekt, N00b.”

Dean felt his left eye twitch. Okay, yeah, he was right. The pointing and laughing was _way_ worse.

“Dean. Why are you carrying vials for Rowena?” Castiel questioned, pulling his attention back. Dean shut his mouth and opened it a few times, trying to figure out what the right answer was. It was hard to think with those blue eyes looking at him like that.

“Everyone's been using him as their assistant.” Gabriel interrupted, smirking. “They all ask him for stuff so they get to look at him longer. He's like the poolboy, only better.”

“Gabriel.” Castiel scolded, turning towards him. Gabriel cackled and grabbed a bottle of water,  turning and walking out of the room. Cas turned to Dean. “Is this true? You've been trying to keep up with everyone running you around all morning?”

“Ummm.. Yeah?” Dean said, letting himself relax a little bit. Castiel looked miffed, but he didn't look angry _at Dean_. “It's not a huge deal. I just hate having to be in and out of rooms with all these goddamned people around here, y'know?”

“Don't worry about it, I completely understand.” Castiel said, shaking his head. “I'm not about to ask you to do that much. The others were misinformed about your job duties. I only intended for you to help me out when we're too busy for me to retrieve things for myself.”

“So what you're saying is, you just wanted me all to yourself?” Dean teased, leaning on the counter. He had, of course, forgotten that he was holding the spell vials. They all tumbled out of his hands one by one, landing on the floor with a small chorus of ' _clink'_ s.

He immediately dropped to his knees and scooped them up, feeling Cas's eyes on him the whole time. It could have been worse; none of them had broken, thank God. He could practically feel the smirk Castiel was wearing, and his face heated.

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” Castiel said. He sounded smooth, if not a little unpracticed. If Dean didn't know any better, he might almost think that Cas was... Well, flirting with him.

Or, flirting back. If you count what Dean said as flirting, which he definitely most likely doesn't. Because why would Dean flirt with a man?

“Alright. I guess we should give people the memo.” Dean said. He glanced out towards the back porch, where Rowena sat with a Cauldron hanging over the fire. The flames licked up, the color almost matching the color of her hair. She was tapping her foot impatiently.

“As soon as we break for lunch, I'll make sure the distinction is made.” Castiel said, nodding.

“How far away is that?” Dean asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“About half an hour. Not too long, and all the customers will be asked to briefly leave the house around that time.” Castiel said. Dean gave a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. Do we get some of that pie today, too?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. Castiel rolled his eyes and walked away, without giving him an answer. Dean smiled, raising his voice. “Is that a yes?”

~~~

She had long, blonde hair, and hips that promised _experience_. She glanced his way, a certain kind of sly look in her eyes. He knew that look; he'd given and received it enough times to know what she wanted.

And, really, what was stopping him? As much as he was, in fact, still busy, he also wasn't nearly as bad as he'd been earlier.

Anyways, she was hot. And Dean _was_ attracted to women. Very attracted to women. Women exclusively.

In fact, he was so attracted to women that flirting with this girl had nothing to do whatsoever with his recent “What the fuck dudes are hot too” thoughts, because he certainly wasn't trying to prove something by ignoring the fact that bisexuality exists in favor of convincing himself that liking women means he doesn't like men so he could avoid confronting this new development. Yup, nothing like that going on here.

“Hey there.” He said, smoothly. He leaned on the nearby railing, feeling himself slip back into an old role. It felt like coming back to the blanket you'd had since you were a child, something familiar and comforting. He knew how to handle women. He knew how to play straight.

“Hey.” She said back, leaning forward. Dean felt smooth. He felt confident. He felt like he knew what to say next, for the first time in at least a month. It really had been too long since he'd gotten laid.

Maybe that was what he needed to relieve some stress? Sex always made him feel better, if a little sad after everything was over. Not because he didn't enjoy it, but because he always _craved_ touch. But he knew it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Besides, men didn't worry about physical affection. Dean was a man and had to act like one. He didn't want to make himself feel like _worse_ shit the next day.

“So, I'm a little new to town. Tourist or local?” Dean questioned. She batted her eyelashes and cocked her hip, placing her weight on her right side.

“Oh, I'm on vacation right now. Which means that, all in all, I'm up for just about anything.” She said, her tone taking on a sultry tone. “Which is why I'm at a psychic, of course. Say, do you do palm reading? You look like you'd be good with your hands. Or, well, other people's hands.”

“You know, I actually don't. They only keep me around here for my charming good looks and winning personality.”

“Oh! Well, maybe you could hold my hand anyways? I have the feeling you might feel something when you do.” She flirted, sticking out her hand. Dean took it and turned it over, just barely grazing his fingers along her palm in an almost intimate gesture.

He could feel the smirk on his face. Yeah, he's still got it.

~~~

Castiel was in the middle of the reading when suddenly, it felt as though something was pulling his gaze to the side. Like he should be noticing a problem. It was soft at first, something he could ignore, push to the back of his mind. Besides, even if it did seem urgent, his clients came first.

Any other premonitions he had must be saved for later. For the sake of the house, of course. He couldn't start tearing down their good reputation now.

It kept tugging, though. A persistent, annoying tug that wanted whispered, _Look to the left_. He paused, gritted his teeth, and continued with his reading. He had a feeling that whatever he saw was going to warrant more attention than he could give it while he was busy. The woman he was meeting with got a reading every week if she could help it, and he felt he owed her his full attention.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour (but was more accurately only a couple of minutes,) he finished up her reading. She stood and he did too, mumbling “Any time,” when she thanked him. He'd turned left, and his eyes were focused on a sight that both baffled and shocked him.

Dean was holding the hand of a woman. Castiel had never seen her before, so he knew that she must be a walk-in client. She had long blonde hair and a big smile, and her eyes were batting up towards Dean's in a way Castiel recognized from movies. (That, and customers flirting with him every chance they were given, but he usually didn't notice that himself until after someone pointed it out.) He felt an odd, fiery sensation burn and spread across his chest.

His eyes narrowed, and he wasn't quite sure why.

“Dean.” He interrupted whatever playful banter they'd had going. Dean turned and looked at Cas with wide eyes, and he slowly let his hand drop from hers. She looked a little sour, but Castiel couldn't bring himself to care. “Could you go and get me my Galaxy deck?”

Dean nodded, walking over and holding out his hand for Castiel's current choice. Cas slowly began to pick up the cards and shuffle them back into the deck before sealing it into a bag and handing it to Dean. Dean turned and walked away, throwing a smirk over his shoulder towards the flirting girl.

“Next customer.” Castiel shouted, over his shoulder. He watched as a brunette girl with dark brown eyes walked up.

“Hey. I'm Lisa. New to town.” She said, plainly. Castiel nodded. He was listening, of course, but his mind had other things on it, clouding his thought process. After a few moments without verbal response, she tried again for conversation, “This is my first time ever going to a place like this. I'm sorta skeptical.”

Castiel looked up, then. It wasn't odd for people to be skeptical before they came here, but many of them went to _Missouri_ first. Missouri's _specialty_ was blowing people away. She could, quite literally, read the minds of the people that came there. A lot of people started out with her and then, once they got used to the idea of the metaphysical, transitioned to seeing him or Rowena to ask for readings, favors, or spells. A few stuck with her, but her prices were higher and personality more abrasive.

“Most new customers don't start out with me. Why don't you let me see your hand to start off with, Lisa?” Castiel asked. Lisa's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked ready to ask a question, but still held out her hand. He took it, turning it over.

“You're left-handed?” He questioned. Lisa nodded. “Okay, just making sure. Let's see here... You have one child. You grew up in a town even smaller than this, but then decided to try for a big city adventure. You came here, presumably, to raise the boy in a more stable environment. Is that true?”

Lisa looked shocked. “Umm, yeah. I was actually here to ask you about that, about whether or not this move would be good for Ben. I'm not really sure how to check for myself, because he likes to hide what he's feeling from me.”

“That seems reasonable. Well, now that your fears are assuaged, we can begin your tarot reading.” Castiel said. He leaned to the right, looking for Dean. Sure enough, he was coming around the corner with the new deck in his hands.

He set it down, and turned to go. For some, unidentified reason, Castiel felt like he _had_ to stop him from talking to that girl.

Surely, this was a premonition? Maybe she was a bad decision, or secretly in league with one of their competitors? Not that there were many of those, but there were a couple of small palmistry and tarot card shops a few towns over. He'd seen a few people from those come here a couple of times, scoping them out and seeing what the buzz was about. Not many of them were malevolent, but he could never be too careful.

“Why don't you stay and watch, Dean?” He blurted, before he could help himself. Dean paused, looking at him like he'd just suggested that they set something small on fire.

“Why?” He questioned. Castiel worked quickly to come up with an answer.

“You had questions about how this worked, did you not? The easiest way to see would be to observe it for yourself.” Cas said. He gestured to the seat beside Lisa. “That is, as long as she doesn't mind.”

“Not at all!” She said, cheerfully. “He seems nice enough. Actually, he reminds me a lot of Ben's dad.”

“Good. Then I'm sure you two will get along fine.” Cas said, nodding. Dean narrowed his eyes and shot a glance back to the blonde girl, and looked scandalized.

Cas couldn't help but turn, just slightly, and look. She was already flirting with another guy in the line, Dean all but forgotten as she felt his muscles. Castiel took a small breath, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Good, that should solve that problem.

“Alright, now, let's get started with the reading.” Castiel offered, picking up the cards. They hummed under his touch. “You'd said that you'd wanted a reading on how Ben will do after the move? The easiest thing to do would be a past, present, future spread. Simple, three-cards, should give you insight as to whether or not this will be a better environment.”

“That sounds great. Thank you so much for helping me out like this.” Lisa said, gratefully. Dean blew a strand of hair out of his face beside her, glaring directly at Cas.

Cas glanced up and met his eyes. His stomach sank, and he felt his own anger rise up in return. It was clear that Dean blamed him for losing his chance at the Blonde, and Castiel wasn't impressed.

“No problem.” He said, beginning to shuffle the cards. This was a short reading, it wouldn't take too long. As soon as it was over, he would drag Dean to the kitchen and have a talk with him about maintaining a certain level of professionalism with the customers.

He couldn't have him flirting with the people who walked through that door. What he did on his own time was none of Castiel's business, but now that he thought about it, it could really damage their reputation if Dean started doing that.

He already had Balthazar to make that mistake. Over, and over. And over. He didn't need a second.

“You know, this stuff seems really _fake_ to me.” Dean said, his voice coming out in a gruff, grating tone. Castiel looked up, sharply. “I mean, if you wanna see someone fuck around with cards, you should go to a Casino.”

Castiel looked to Lisa, who looked shocked. “Aren't you being just a little rude?”

Dean turned his head, his arms tightening in front of his chest. Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he attempted to squish down his feelings. He glanced up at the clock.

3:40. They could close a few minutes early. There were still people in line, sure, but none of them had made appointments. There was no way they could take all of them, anyways.

“Alright everyone.” He raised his voice, knowing that Rowena and Missouri at the very least could hear him. The rest of them would find out when they came out and the people were gone. “Last call of the day! Whoever you're with now is it. The rest of you, I'm sorry, but we can't guarantee a reading without an appointment.”

There were mumbles and groans, and Castiel felt the breeze flutter in as the door was opened. This was, of course, a daily ritual. The schedueled people would usually be finished up in around four hours, all the regulars taken care of. But the tourists couldn't possibly be taken care of. At least, not all of them.

“Okay. Now, let's see what we have here.” Castiel said, laying down three cards.

~~~

“What the hell is your problem?” He asked, balling his hands into fists. “You're acting like a child.”

“What the hell is _my_ problem? Have you even _seen_ yourself? You run me around like I'm your slave and then as soon as I start to talk to the customers, you get pissy about it.”

“You were flirting with that girl. When you're on work hours, and more importantly, _here_ , you represent our reputation. I can't have it getting around town that I have an employee that throws himself at every attractive woman that walks through the door.” He said, raising his voice. As an afterthought, he added, “Other than Balthazar.”

“I can flirt with whoever the fuck I want. And that girl threw herself at _me_. I was just trying to be polite.” Dean said, raising his voice back. Castiel's head started to pound, and he raised a hand to put two fingers against the bridge of his nose. His voice dipped into something lower and more final.

“Listen. If you have a problem with my rules, we can discuss it like civil people. If you have a problem with me giving you orders, I'm sure we can work out a solution. But I don't know you well enough to let you have free reign with the customers yet. And even if a woman attempts to flirt with you, while you are in a professional setting, you shouldn't reciprocate.” Castiel said, flatly. Dean jerked back, eyes widening.

There were a few seconds of tense silence. “I... I can understand that. But you can't treat me like an infant. I'm trying my hardest, man.”

“I...” Castiel trailed off, shaking his head incredulously. He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know Dean well enough... He couldn't tell what would be appropriate in this situation.

“I'm sorry if I was disrespectful. I... Uh, that reading you gave her was actually pretty cool. Weirdly specific. I don't understand how you could get so much from a set of cards.” Dean interrupted, changing the subject. Castiel relaxed, trusting the issue to be done and over with. 

“It's more than the cards, it's the spirit within them. The best tarrot readers feel in-tune with their decks and the spirits involving them. It's...” Castiel paused, and brilliance struck. Dean was feeling controlled, was he not? Like Castiel was keeping him on a tight leash? “Why don't you start to learn it yourself?”

Dean's head whipped up, his eyes scanning Cas's face. “You're serious?”

This, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that teaching him some basic tarot would also give the two of them a great deal of time alone together. Castiel would get to see Dean, get a feel for his personality... This could be good.

“You'd know if I was joking.” He said, smirking. Dean's own lip twitched upwards, briefly, but he started to shake his head.

“There's no way, man. This thing isn't for me. I'm not gonna be able to “feel” anything. I'm not like my brother.” He said. Castiel's lips pressed into a thin line.

“I wasn't good at first, either. I learned he deck, I learned to feel and trust what it told me. You don't have to be gifted to be a good reader. It would give you the freedom you feel as though you need.” Cas said. He surprised himself with how sincere he was. He really and truly wanted Dean to succeed here.

Dean looked up, but there was reservation in his eyes. “Alright, but I'm not doing any homework on shit like that. I guess I could learn something.”

“That's a much better attitude.” Castiel teased. Dean smiled, only a little. He straightened and thought for a few moments, clearly ready for another change of topic.

“So... When's dinner?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I actually had this done on Friday but waited until today to publish because I figured it would be good to have variety in my posting days and I had a lot of luck with Sundays in the past.

Castiel woke with a gasp, sitting up sharply and clutching at air.

Another dream of another place, Dean's face close to his in a dim firelight. He got close to kissing him, and it _burned_.

He shook his head, trying to dissipate the daze. There wasn't much he could do about these dreams, other than just ride them out and pretend like they didn't bother him. He'd tried to get rid of them before, when he was younger, but it had never worked.

Not that he didn't like the dreams, of course. When they had started, they were happier than he'd dared to imagine his life ending up. They'd given him a fresh kind of hope that life did, in fact, have ups as well as downs. It seemed like the first eighteen years of Cas's life had all been down.

The last week had been hectic. He used the old flying-through-the-air, nameless glee dreams to distract him, but that's not what he'd been getting. Almost every dream was about or involving Dean Winchester, and he almost didn't want to see the real thing when he woke up out of shame.

Nothing inappropriate, of course. He just felt awkward dreaming about someone every night. It seemed like he just couldn't shake his strange attraction.

He got up. His feet wobbled underneath him, but he forced himself to stay upright.

It got easier as he moved down the hallway, fingers just barely brushing against the wall. He didn't want to turn on the light for fear of waking anyone, but his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. The bathroom light was permanently on, which shed a bit of light on his trip.

He made his way down the stairs, stopping when he realized that the bathroom light wasn't the only one that was on.

Soft, pale light shone around the kitchen corner.

“Missouri?” He asked, confused. She always knew when he woke up like this, but she only came to talk to him about it once a week or so. Usually, she knew Castiel needed his time, needed his space alone after these dreams. She'd showed up here yesterday as well, so she shouldn't be due to show for at least another four or five days, minimum.

“Um, no?” Came a voice, gruff and tired. Castiel felt his eyes widen in surprise as Dean Winchester poked his head around the corner to the kitchen.

“What time is it?” Cas asked. He came closer, into the kitchen, ignoring the instincts that were telling him to turn and go hide in his bedroom until Dean was done with... Well, whatever it was he was doing. Castiel wondered if it was later than he thought it was, if Dean was already up for the morning.

“It's two. Why?” Dean questioned. Dean turned around and walked back towards the counter, going back to the sandwich he was preparing. Castiel felt his head tilt to the side, more curious as to what Dean was doing than the time.

“You're eating? Now?” He questioned. He saw the tips of Dean's ears get red.

“Yeah, I am. Do you want something?” He offered. Castiel remained silent for a moment, trying to piece together whether or not Dean actually meant it. “Okay, I'm taking that as a yes, because I already started making your food.”

“Thank you.” Castiel said. His voice held more surprise than he'd meant it to. Dean shot a playful smile over his shoulder, and a wink.

“Well, I am good for something, right?” He said.

It wasn't long before he was putting up ingredients and bringing a simple bologna sandwich towards the table, perched upon a paper plate. Dean sat his plate beside Castiel's and plopped down into the chair, turning and looking at Cas expectantly.

“Why are you up and eating at this time of the night?” Castiel questioned, finally breaking out of his surprise. Dean took a big bite of his sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully. Castiel took his seat, feeling slightly stiff. He wondered whether or not he was as transparent as he felt. He wondered if Dean could see through his facade, could tell that his dreams were vivid paintings of the two of them in another time and place, and very much in love.

“This usually happens about once a month. I end up too stressed or nervous to sleep. It's happened ever since I started high school. What about you?” Dean asked. Then, suddenly, there was a hand pressed to Castiel's forehead, and concerned green eyes staring into his. “You seem a little warm. You okay?”

Castiel thought he may have died and gone to heaven. Dean's hand was warm and steady against his forehead, his eyes sincere. The butterflies almost made him uncomfortable, as foreign as they were in his stomach.

“I...” Castiel thought. He didn't know why, but he trusted Dean. He wanted to tell him the truth, he didn't want to make feeble excuses and use the same lies he used with everyone else. Then again, he couldn't tell him the _whole_ truth. “I had a dream. My dreams are vivid, intense. They often wake me.”

“Oh. What were you dreaming about? I mean, if it's not too personal to ask.” Dean questioned. Castiel's eyes fell down to his sandwich, and he picked it up, taking a bite. It was a delicious way to avoid the topic. 

The silence stretched on, and Dean seemed to have dropped the topic. Cas couldn't help the small wave of guilt that rippled through his stomach, and he gave a sigh. “Flying, usually. They're not bad dreams, they just leave me feeling empty. Like I should be larger than I am.”

“Oh. I'm not... not quite sure what you mean by that, but I guess it makes sense.” Dean said. “What were you coming down here for?”

“I was going to go for a walk in the garden. It's beautiful this time of year, and the night air usually soothes me.” Castiel said. He loved to be underneath the stars, looking up and feeling their light radiate upon him. He loved the smell of the garden flowers, which he often times tended himself. In the winter, he loved the snow, and the way it made him shake reminded him that he was _human_.

“I actually haven't spent a lotta time out there. It seems like you have a freakin' huge yard.” Dean announced. Castiel paused, considering.

“Do you... Would you like to go with me, when we're finished?” He offered. His stomach twisted, nervously. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt like he shouldn't have said them. Like something was going to go wrong, like there was going to be some kind of a disaster. Him and Dean, alone, out under the endless Tennessee night sky?

“I'd like that.” Dean said, his voice sounding warm. Castiel didn't have long to regret his decision, because he looked down to see that most of his sandwich was already gone. (Dean was right, he did make a mean sandwich). He finished the rest and stood, grabbing his plate and Dean's.

“Thanks.” Dean said, as Castiel was dumping the empty paper plates into the trashcan. Cas nodded.

“It's only fair. You made the meal, I should clean it up.” He said. He turned back towards the table to find that Dean had somehow ended up by the door already, hand gripping the handle, waiting for Castiel.

“You know, about that. I don't have _all_ that much to do right now, since I got all the basic repairs caught up, and you guys really need something in your diet that isn't made from someone else. Do you think it would go over well if I made dinner one night, or something?” Dean questioned. Castiel smiled.

“I think that sounds wonderful. I didn't know you cooked.”

Dean pulled the door open, gesturing for Castiel to go through first. He did so, coming out on the other side and turning back to make sure Dean followed.

“Yeah, I do. A little. I got sick of eating out every night, and my dad was having some heart issues, so I decided to take up cooking. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him...” There was something sad in Dean's voice, a certain kind of longing. “It wasn't pretty. He, uh... He thought I had better things to learn how to do. Hunting, gambling." He broke out of the sadness, letting a small laugh interrupt his story. "But he shut up once he got a mouth full of my mashed potatoes.”

“That sounds like it was hard on you. Was he usually so one-track-minded?” Castiel questioned. Dean sounded nostalgic, and sincere. It was nice to hear him talk so openly.

Actually, everything about Dean seemed more relaxed now, under the moonlight. Castiel felt the faint flicker of remembrance, like an old memory fighting to make itself known. He brushed it aside in favor of listening to Dean.

“Absolutely. The sucker kept us on the move our entire lives, expected us to act the same as him. Anytime anyone would find out about Sammy,  he forced us to move. And Sammy saved lives, Cas. If he'd ignored something that could have saved someone... Well, Sammy would have never let it go.” Dean illustrated. Castiel hummed, feeling sadness start to well up within his chest.

The dew from the grass absorbed into his pants, tickled his bare feet. Dean was wearing shoes, he noted. The air was warmer than usual, but a pleasant breeze kept it nice and comfortable. He felt... Exposed, walking on the small, cobblestone path through the garden. He felt... He felt like a ghost, in the most peculiar way. Like the rest of the world would pass him by, but only Dean could really see. He wanted to let Dean see.

He gave into the feeling. He wanted to talk, he wanted to open up. And tonight? He felt just a little bit invincible. Dean had just opened up to him, and Castiel should return the favor.

“I know how you feel. My parents rejected everything I was growing up. They raised a prim, proper Christian boy... Mom told me that God sent her visions of an angel when she was pregnant with me, and they named me Castiel. They were convinced I would be a preacher, have a higher calling. They raised me to believe that my destiny was set in stone, that I would never escape what my mother had seen.” He said.

“That's... Fucked up, man.” Dean said. Castiel nodded, giving a small chuckle.

“It's ironic, now. Because I'm helping people, but not in the way they were expecting me to. Of course, I still feel a strong connection with the Angels, but in my mother's eyes, I'm closer to a demon.”

“I hope you don't mind me asking, but... How does that whole thing work, anyways?” Dean questioned. “You believe in Angels, but you worship all the Greek gods and crap like that.”

“Angels carry through many religions. I just don't believe they exclusively serve any one God. I think they exist on their own as entities, rather than having been created by the Christian God.” Cas said. Dean nodded a little.

“That makes sense. And even if it didn't, you know what? All of this... It's really shown me that sometimes, you can't question everything. Some things just fucking _are_ , man. Belief isn't one of those things that really needs explaining.” Dean said. Then, the wonder faded from his voice, replaced with a tease. “Don't tell everyone I said that, though. I don't want to lose my reputation as the house skeptic.”

Castiel laughed, and everything felt just a little bit better. Lighter. He didn't feel so heavy; in fact, he felt like he could fly.

“Do you want to go inside now? It's hot as balls out here.” Dean complained. He, of course, wasn't quite used to the Tennessee weather.

“Only if you promise me you'll stop procrastinating on your tarot training. I expect us to actually start work tomorrow.” Castiel warned. Dean gave a pretend groan.

“Come on, it's not _my_ fault Gabriel decided to challenge me to a best-of-thirteen Mario Kart race. You literally can't blame me for that.”

“Oh, I don't. But I expect you to say no next time.”

“Have you ever tried to tell your brother 'no'?”

“Yes. And always to disastrous consequences.”

~~~

“Alright. Now, if you'll grab my trunk and bring it over here, that would be splendid.” Castiel said. Dean let out a groan, slumping in his chair.

“Really, dude? I've been running your errands all damn day and you want me to do this _now_?” Dean asked. Castiel felt his mouth pull upwards, into a smirk.

“Yes. And while you're at it, you can iron my shirts and fetch me my tea.” He teased. Dean stood, rolling his eyes as he went to get the trunk.

Of course, the trunk wasn't all that big, or all that heavy. Castiel had maybe thirty decks of cards, give or take a few. The total, combined weight couldn't have been much more than a box of books. Dean, of course, still pretended to struggle under the weight that Castiel knew wasn't there. He tried to stop smiling, but couldn't.

“Alright.” Dean said, placing the trunk next to the table. “What next?”

“Well, I figured that today we'd see which deck suits you best. There are certain decks that are harder or easier to read with, but one of the most important things I've found is that the deck has to click with the reader, or else even a simple deck is relatively useless.”

“So you want me to what, pick whatever “calls to me”?” Dean asked, furrowing his brows. Castiel leaned down and started unpacking the cards from the trunk, talking while he did.

“Absolutely.”

“...And if nothing does?” Dean asked. Castiel paused, looking at his two rows of neatly lain-out cards. He placed another one on the table, a little slower, and his eyes flickered up to meet Dean's. There was insecurity there.

“Then we'll pick the best match. If we have to ask the decks individually, then we will.” Castiel said. However, he was confident that it wouldn't come down to that. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling that Dean was going to be a great reader.

Something about the way he told it like it was, something about how he wouldn't be afraid to give bad news. Maybe it was the way he'd joke around, make light of a dark situation even if he felt obligated to tell the person he was reading for the truth. Castiel _knew_ that a deck would want him.

“Alrighty then. You're the boss.” Dean said, putting his hands up in surrender. Castiel continued to lay out his decks, one by one. Side by side they sat, most of them in card bags, some of them in boxes. His angel deck, his usual Mystical Cats, all one by one coming out onto the table.

“Okay.” Castiel said, now looking at the cards. He glanced up towards Dean, who was staring intently at the bags and boxes.

This wasn't going to work if he tried to pick something based on the art. Castiel needed to know which one of the decks _clicked_ with Dean, not which one _appealed_ to him. He thought, trying to work out a way that he could get Dean to choose the one that actually worked for him.

“Hold on. I'll be right back.” Castiel said, standing up. Dean looked a little bit startled, but nodded.

He came back ten minutes later with a bandanna in his hand. Dean was still looking over all of the decks, his eyes drifting back and forth between the Mystical Cats and Cas's edition of Wildwood Tarot.

“Alright. I'm going to blindfold you so you won't be partial based on card art.” Castiel announced, flashing Dean the bandana. Dean smirked and leaned back, something playful in his eyes.

Castiel walked behind him, positioning the bandana. He made quick work of it, folding the center a few times and placing it over Dean's eyes. His knuckles brushed up against Dean's thick hair as he worked, tying the knot as securely as he could.

“Y'know, Cas,” Dean announced, smirking. “Last time I was blindfolded up like this, it was in a _very_ different context.”

Castiel felt his ears burn as he stepped away and came back to his original seat, trying not let his imagination run wild. The last thing he needed was to get hard right now, even if Dean _was_ being a little flirtatious. Which, of course, Cas was certain that he did with everyone. Dean just had a very open personality, that was all. There was no way that beautiful, _heterosexual_ , Dean Winchester was flirting with Castiel.

“Alright.” Cas said, clearing his throat. Then, he paused.

He grabbed the Wildwood Tarot and moved it. He had a gut feeling, and wanted to see how it would turn out. He grabbed a few other decks and moved their places, making sure to stay relatively quiet. When he was finished with his work, he looked back up towards Dean. “Okay, now raise your hand and hover it over the decks, please. Go as fast or as slow as you'd like, but keep in mind which ones call to you.”

Castiel watched as Dean raised his right hand, immediately reaching out to where the Wildwood tarot had been before. A brief look of confusion flashed on Dean's face, and Cas felt almost smug.

“What is it?” He asked, amusement leaking into his voice.

“I dunno. I just... I guess I was expecting something.” Dean said. Cas felt a little bad about it when he heard the disappointment in his friend's voice.

“Keep going.” Castiel urged. Dean moved his hand along, hovering over each deck. Finally, towards the end, he stopped. His hand lowered, and he picked the deck up.

He ripped off the blindfold, smiling when he saw the Wildwood tarot. Castiel smiled broadly, confident that this meant he'd been right about Dean Winchester.

“Alright!” Dean exclaimed.

“You felt something?” Castiel urged. Dean looked up, hesitation in his eyes.

“Honestly, no. It was sorta a coincidence.” Dean said, his voice wavering. Castiel knew that it was more than a coincidence, but decided that it was okay for now.

“Okay, now let's get started.” Castiel said, beginning to put away the decks.

“Alright, as long as you don't expect me to go all  _Odd Thomas_  here.” Dean warned, playfully. Castiel felt his brow furrow.

“I'm afraid I don't understand that reference.” Castiel said. Dean's jaw dropped.

“Dude, no way. You're a psychic and you've never seen _Odd Thomas_? Netflix even has it.” Dean said, enthusiastically. Castiel paused what he was doing, looking up.

“It's about a psychic?” He questioned. Dean nodded his head, flabbergasted.

“Dude, that's it. This can wait until tomorrow, we're going to that stupid game room and we're gonna watch _Odd Thomas_. You're gonna cry.” Dean announced. Castiel paused.

He'd planned for them to work for at least an hour today, but Dean seemed so enthusiastic. And the idea of sitting in the room, in the dark, on the couch next to Dean, _did_ sound pretty damn appealing. Castiel hadn't kept up very well on pop culture, never had, but honestly... Was it ever a bad time to start?

“Alright. But tomorrow, we're going to work on this for longer.” Castiel announced. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Okay, as long as _you_ grab the popcorn.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment? I could use the encouragement right now!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been out yesterday but I accidentally slept for 12 hours  
> This isn't even a joke  
> Enjoy your chapter.

 

It was late.

Dean knew that. He knew he shouldn't be up, but... Well, he couldn't sleep. He kept tossing and turning, and goddamnit, the insomnia had just happened a week ago. There was no way this was that, not this soon after his last outbreak.

Which, of course, meant that he couldn't even lie to himself. 

He knew Castiel was still up, all alone. Ever since the last tarot reading, he'd been soaking up all the alone time with Cas that he could. Dragging him to watch netflix, walking with him in the hallways. It hadn't been much; the second week was just as busy as the first. But it had been good. 

Castiel was still reserved. The most open Dean had seen him was that night they'd walked in the garden. Dean longed for that feeling again, Cas sharing everything as though Dean were a trusted companion he'd known for years.

And, well... Here it was, nighttime again. Castiel was all alone downstairs, staying up later than usual. Dean wouldn't be wrong to go and keep him company, would he? If he snuck downstairs, made them something to eat, and made smalltalk? Wouldn't Cas probably appreciate the presence of a friend?

Suddenly, Dean was _convinced_ he needed a glass of water. This had nothing to do with Castiel. It was just... Dean was thirsty. And not in the date way, because he was NOT crushing on Cas, he just needed some good, old-fashioned, heterosexual water.

Even if he did find himself occasionally gasping Cas's name as he came now. Quietly, of course, he wasn't stupid. But... Well, he was...

He was thinking about Cassie. That had to be it. It had nothing to do with his new friend. His new, hot, definitely-not-into-him friend.

He distracted himself by counting his footsteps as he walked downstairs. He peeked around the corner as he reached the landing, seeing Cas situated at the dining table. Scissors were by his side and multicolored paper was strewn across the table. His brow was furrowed in concentration as his hands worked to fold something that Dean couldn't see.

“Late night?” Dean questioned, stepping out from behind the wall. Castiel turned sharply, eyes briefly widening as he realized he wasn't alone.

“Of course.” He mumbled, before turning back to his project. Dean walked through the hallway, past Cas and into the open kitchen. He walked to the cabinet and retrieved a cup, filling it with water. On a second thought, Dean poured the water into the coffee maker and started it up. He could practically feel the bags under his eyes weighing him down.

He walked over to Cas as he waited. Castiel's hands were working furiously, manipulating the paper into the shape desired in record time. Dean watched with fascination as Castiel placed a small, paper star onto the table. He looked to see a small pile of stars beside it, all in different colors.

Castiel picked up another strip of paper from a pile he had cut, working to fold it into yet another star.

“Whoa. That's awesome.” Dean said, reaching forward and picking one up. It was sturdy and felt more like plastic than paper in his hand. These things weren't fragile. He threw it up and caught it before putting it back on the table with the others.

“Thank you. They work wonders for wish and luck spells.” Castiel informed him, smiling. Dean sat down slowly beside him, as if moving too fast would alert Cas to the fact that he intended to stay. Castiel probably knew that the moment Dean came down the stairs, but, well. The formality of pretending like that wasn't his plan made Dean feel a little better.

“These things take awhile to fold.” Dean said. Castiel's hands worked at a steady pace, much faster than Dean thought his own hands would have gone.

“Yes, yes they do. But our customers enjoy them, and Rowena uses them in spell bags. If I just focus on energy rather than giving them a specific purpose, they can be used as a simple amplifier. Rowena refuses to do it herself.” Castiel informed him, continuing to work while he spoke.

“That sucks, man.” Dean said. The coffee pot let out a small 'ding', and Dean went to go and pour some.

He got two mugs and brought them over to the table, along with the bottle of peppermint creamer Castiel had in the fridge. Dean had no fucking clue where he got it since it was out of season, but Castiel seemed to have an endless supply of the stuff.

“Want some coffee?” Dean offered, sliding it in front of Cas. His hands stopped their work and his eyes flickered up.

“Would... Would you like to help me fold these?” Castiel offered, gesturing towards the stars. Dean felt a burst of relief go through him, Castiel's offer proof that Dean's presence wasn't simply being tolerated.

“Sure, if you need help. I'm not all that good at all of this 'magic' bullcrap-,” Dean started.

“That's because you keep pulling me away from our tarot lessons to watch vaguely related netflix titles.” Castiel teased.

“But I'll help if you lose the attitude.” Dean finished. Cas chuckled, sliding him a piece of paper. Dean's hands left the warmth of his cup of coffee, fingers sliding over the blue slip before picking it up. “Alright, so what do I do with this?”

“Watch my movements and try to mimick them.” Castiel told him, raising his hands. He slowed himself, folding the paper into an odd tie before placing the paper tail direction after direction, building up the layers as the paper went round and round. He seemed to naturally know where the best place for it was. He tucked the leftover tail in the edge of the last fold he'd made, then quickly pushed up the sides.

A small, perfect, five-sided star sat in his palm when he was finished. A beautiful shade of blue, in contrast with his pale palms.

Suddenly, Dean had the odd thought that he wished he could actually read palms. And not just because he wanted to hold Cas's hand.

“Alrighty. I guess I can give it a try.” Dean said, taking the paper and attempting the knot. However, that was just about as far as he got. He tried to fold the layers, but the paper just didn't seem to be following the same natural pattern it had been with Cas. It kept popping up in weird placed, refusing to be guided.

“You're doing it wrong.” Castiel said, frowning. Dean tried to ignore the spike of frustration, but probably failed.

“Then how do _you_ do it?” Dean questioned, his voice just a little snappier than he intended. Cas gave a frustrated sigh and stood up. Dean turned, eyes widening, an apology on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want Castiel to leave, that was the _opposite_ of his goal.

Warm arms wrapped around him, and Dean jumped. Cas's breath was hot on his ear as his hands moved over Dean's, moving them into place and slowly beginning to fold the paper. “Like this.”

Dean tried his _hardest_ not to let a pleased shiver work its way out of him. He swallowed, thickly, and tried to pay attention to what Cas's hands were doing rather than the warm, pleasant feeling of Cas's skin on his.

He forced himself to focus on the shape of the paper, closing his eyes and pretending that it _wasn't_ Cas pressed up behind him. Once he forced himself to focus, he _did_ see what Cas was saying, a little bit.

“So....” He said, trying to put the feeling into words.

“You let the paper lead you, rather than trying to lead the paper. In this case, anyways.” Castiel said. He let go of Dean's hands, pulling back and taking his delicious warmth with him. Dean could have whined at the loss, but he didn't, because he wasn't a moron and did still have (most) of his dignity intact, thank you very much.

“Thanks.” Dean said. His voice came out an octave higher than it usually did, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it up.

Goddamnit. Cas sat beside him, looking totally and completely unaffected by all of it. He was cool, collected, and immediately got back to the task as though nothing had happened. Dean felt his stomach drop to his feet, and tried to ignore the feeling of hopelessness making itself a home in his chest.

Castiel would never feel the same weird, awkward feelings for him.

Dean popped up the sides of the origami star, love and hopeless longing swirling around inside of him like he was a high school girl daydreaming about Jonny Depp.

Dean put the star on the table, and Castiel reached out to take it. Dean was expecting it to go in the jar, but Castiel brought it close, looking contemplative.

“Our energies may have mingled with this star. I'm not sure whether or not that would affect its function. I, uh... I think we shouldn't give this one to Rowena. Here, I'll put it on my tarot table.” He offered, standing and walking over to the altar and plopping it down next to the candles. Dean felt an odd kind of pride at the fact that that star was being kept.

“That's probably a good idea.” Dean said. He picked up a second star and began to fold, taking his time and carefully taking the first few steps, allowing the star to naturally guide him.

They folded in silence for a little while. Dean still fucked up sometimes, made the sides a little too creased and then fucked up popping the paper up into an actual star. But a good sixty percent of the time, there was nothing wrong with it. He slid it over into a pile in the center of the table, and Castiel would collect them and plop them into the jar.

“This is monotonous alone. Thank you for helping.” Castiel said. Dean didn't realize he'd spoken, at first, he was so absorbed in his actions.

“No big deal, man.” He said, sliding another star across the table. He took a short break and picked up his coffee, taking a long drag and setting it back down. He stared longingly at the creamer in the middle of the table, unsure of whether or not he was even allowed to use it and not wanting to feel like a pansy for not being able to drink his coffee black.

“You can use the creamer if you want.” Castiel mumbled, not even looking up from his star. Dean turned and looked at him, eyes wide.

“Dude,” He accused, suddenly nervous. “You didn't tell me you had Missouri's freaky mind thing. Do you... Have you heard all of my thoughts?”

Dean didn't think he would be able to survive that kind of embarassment, honestly. He waited with wide eyes and fear as Castiel looked up, confused.

“No, I don't... You didn't say that out loud?” He questioned.

“No. I didn't say anything.” Dean admitted. Castiel shook his head, eyes widening.

“Sorry, then. It's been years since I did that last. I do pick up sometimes, but it's only fragments. You need not worry, your privacy is safe. From me, anyways.” Castiel said, smirking. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Dean. Something that had been bothering him since he'd came here.

“What's up with that? Missouri just... knows what everyone thinks? Does she tell you what she hears from other people who live here?” Dean asked, nervous again. Now that he thought about it, it would be all too easy for Castiel to find out about his crush that way. He was pretty sure he'd die of embarrassment.

How very “third grade” it would be if Missouri snitched on him crossed his mind. 

Not that it was an actual crush, of course. Nope, none of that here. 

“Well... Sort of. We have a personal agreement. I enjoy having my privacy and she says she mostly just gets colors from me anyways, so she doesn't read me. A few other people in the house have agreements like that with her, but it's really up to her whether or not she actually follows them.” Castiel admitted. “And to get her to agree such a thing, you have to have her favor deeply.”

“So, what you're saying is, it's entirely hopeless for me to keep her out of my head?” Dean teased. Cas paused, looking up at him.

“Missouri loves you. You should see how she treated Balthazar when he first came here.” Castiel said. Dean laughed, shaking his head.

“She has a funny way of showing it. By the way, when is he coming back?” Dean questioned.

“I don't know. Every time I've invited someone new into the house he's taken a pouting vacation. It's already been two and a half weeks, so he should be coming back within the next few days.”

“That's alright. I don't even wanna know how freaking full this house feels with all those damn people.” Dean teased. “It's already bad enough. How do you deal with it?”

There was a pause that lasted just a little bit longer than it should have. Briefly, Dean worried that he'd said something wrong.

“It's... I was alone a great deal as a child. Not many kids at the school understood me, many thought I was weird or unapproachable. This, having a family who love and accept me even knowing my perceived flaws, is the happiest I've ever been. I can deal with the inconvenience of a full house.” Castiel admitted. Dean paused, taking this in.

“I can't even imagine that. That sucks, Cas.” He said. Then, in attempt to lighten the mood, “If I had gone to your high school, we would have been best buds. I'd've given you your first beer, rides in the impala, taught you how to make fun of Sammy's hair, the whole nine yards.”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like it would have been lovely.”

They talked and folded stars long into the night.

~~~

Sam Winchester stared at the cards in front of him.

“You know, we're already done for the day. You don't have to keep trying to remember what they are, we just started this crap two days ago. There's no way you can remember them all.” Missouri sassed, leaning back in her chair. Her boots were up on the desk as Sam looked through the cards, trying to remember the interpretation of “the Emperor”.

“Missouri, I memorized the entire periodic table in twenty-four hours because the teacher promised ten points of extra credit in the final.” Sam said, glaring at the card. He knew that he could remember if he just kept working at it, kept trying.

“Honey, you don't got nothing to prove.” She said. He kept staring at the card, trying to remember, silent. He didn't want to respond to her until he had the answer. Several more moments passed in intense silence. “Unless, of course... You do?”

Sam looked up. He could hear the question in her voice, and her words shocked him. His eyes narrowed. He liked Missouri, a lot, and she seemed to like him. But if she was implying that he felt like he was being forced into this, well, he was going to defend his decision to his death. Even if he did have to get a little snappy.

Sam had had enough of his decisions endlessly questioned. Which, of course, was probably about the most cliché teenager thing he could ever think, but it was true.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam questioned. He wanted to give Missouri the benefit of the doubt.

She leaned forward, honesty shining in her brown eyes. “I mean, you feel like you've got something to prove here. You feel like Dean is gonna be upset if you don't succeed.”

Sam pulled back, surprise making his spine go rigid. He shook his head immediately, denial rising like bile in his throat.

“It's got nothing to do with-” Sam started, but quickly cur off. Missouri's eyebrows had risen, and he knew that she could find out the truth with just a brush of his mind. She'd been teaching him well these past two weeks, and was experienced enough that Sam knew lying to her would be futile.

Plus, she had a point. He hadn't even realized what he was doing at first, he was so absorbed in making sure he was successful. Even if he didn't learn to curb and control his powers like Missouri did, even if he did end up taking a little longer than average with the tarot readings, well...

Unlike their father, Dean had always been open and encouraging towards Sam. Sam knew that no matter what happened, he would be pleased that Sam was happy and that they were both safe. Sam didn't have to worry about pleasing his brother.

“You're right.” He said, sighing.

“That boy loves you like you're more his son than his brother.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “And that's me being naturally perceptive, I aint reading your mind here.”

“Thanks, Missouri.” Sam said, gratefully. She nodded her head and looked down, towards the cards that were on the table.

Sam stared. His brother may care for him no matter what, but he still owed it to himself to succeed in whatever ways he could. He wanted to be good. He wanted to help people with this, like he always felt like he was born to do.

“In this context, the emperor is a card signifying that you shouldn't let anybody can take away your power.” He said, the answer hitting him suddenly. Looked like the break and talking about Dean helped him get his thoughts in order.

Dean poked his head around the corner. He looked tired, but happy. “Hey, Cas says that since they're closed today, we're gonna go on a big hike to get weird nature stuff. Do you wanna come?”

He glanced at Missouri, who was still smiling from his small victory. “I think that's enough work for today. It's Sunday and I have a date tonight I have to get ready for. You should go ahead and take some time off, too.”

Sam smiled. He wouldn't allow himself to take breaks, to have fun, unless he felt like he'd earned it. For one of the first times in his life, he really and truly felt like he'd earned it.

“I'm coming.” He confirmed. Dean beamed at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on tumblr, if you'd like, @MysticMoonhigh. Feel free to tag me in posts, use the new messaging system to speak to me, and send me asks. I really like getting asks about my fic.   
> Also, if you'd like to put '/tagged/Castiel's Home' into the bar on my blog, I have some things there that reminded me of this fic and little tidbits/updates involving it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys! This is a very fluff fluff chapter. I hope you enjoy.  
> The log idea came to me after I did something similar alone. I liked it a lot and I regained a part of myself that I thought I'd lost a long time ago. If there are any logs over gorges in the earth at your local forest, you'd be surprised by how good it can feel to climb across them.  
> Also, there are shells on my altar for Aphrodite ^_^  
> This chapter is longer than usual by like 500 words. Worship at my feet.

Dean loaded the picnic basket into the back seat of the impala, shutting the door and turning towards his guests.

“You know, we really could have taken my car.” Castiel commented, climbing into the passenger seat. Sam got in the back on the other side, slinging an arm casually over the food and blanket. Dean thought that bringing him was bitter sweet. 

Last night, he and Cas had stayed up well into the morning. He was pretty sure it had been four or five when they'd stopped folding stars, saying goodnight and heading to bed. When Dean had been asked to help him on whatever the fuck this forest thing was, well, he said yes before Castiel had even gotten the words out of his mouth.

He'd then quickly stuttered out a question about Sam coming. Because a picnic in the park the night after you stayed up until four AM with a guy intimately sharing life details was just a little bit too date-ish for his tastes. He didn't trust himself to not do something stupid, like accidentally send Cas signals that would make him uncomfortable.

Dean didn't want to fuck this up. He enjoyed Cas's friendship more than anything, and the last thing that he wanted was to scare him off by making things too intense. Or, well, _seem_ too intense. Because there was no way that Dean _actually_ had a kinda sorta weird crush on the guy.

“Over my dead body. Baby needed to get out.” Dean teased. Really, it was the perfect day for it. It was hot but with a pleasant breeze, the air wasn't too humid, and the sun was shining peacefully down. He started the car, and it hummed beneath them.

As they started driving, Dean started to notice something. Around every corner, there were stupid, slow-moving cars from every state across the US. Alabama, Kentucky, Kansas, Texas, all of them looking for the best place to spend the beautiful day. 

“Cas?” He questioned, “How are we gonna avoid stupid-ass tourists?” 

“I know a place. Change lanes, we need to go left here to get there.” Castiel said. Dean quickly maneuvered his car into the other lane, trying to relax. If he had to trapeze around with tourists all day, he was gonna lose it. 

They'd been driving for half an hour when suddenly, Cas sat up straight in his seat. “We're almost there. Take a right here, and drive right through.” Castiel said, enthusiastically. Dean _did_ have to admit, it didn't seem like there would be too many tourists there. 

Sunlight filtered through the trees and onto the forest ground. The parking lot was small, a wooden board displaying all the different trail types you could take. It seemed untouched by man, or at least, untouched by the part of man that longed to destroy. 

Dean almost put his fingers against his temples. Staying up late was starting to fuck with him, he was too young to be dealing with bullshit thoughts like that.

“How'd you find this place?” He asked, climbing out of the car. The sunlight hit his jacket and warmed his back.

“I have friends in high places.” Castiel teased. Dean raised his eyebrows, and he relented. “A few witch friends let me in on this place to better connect with nature.”

“Connect with nature?” Dean parroted back. Castiel rolled his eyes.

“You can be skeptical all you want later. Come on, we have things we need to find.” Castiel told him, plainly. He opened up the seat beside Sam and grabbed the picnic basket from the seat, picking it up and carrying it as he walked.

Dean watched him as he stared at the board, picking a trail to go on.

“Castiel's a pretty cool guy.” Sam said, making Dean jump.

“Jesus,” He breathed, shaking his head. “Dude, you've gotta stop doing that kinda shit. If you keep surprising me, you're gonna kill me.”

“If you weren't so busy staring at his ass, you would've noticed me getting out of the car, jerk.” Sam teased, nudging him playfully.

Dean decided to ignore the comment, his blush making it difficult to actually stand up for himself in any way.

“I'm gonna beat you to a pulp.” He threatened, grabbing Sam and bringing him close. Sam struggled, but to no avail. Even though he was almost as tall as Dean now, Dean was still able to get the better of him. He buried his hand in Sam's hair and rooted around, digging into his scalp with his knuckles.

“Dean!” Sam accused, finally getting him to release him with a final push against his arm. Sam opened his mouth to make an (undoubtedly lame) threat, but-

Castiel popped his head around the tree. “Are you two baboons coming? Remind me to go alone on my next trip.”

“And take your shit car?”

~~~

“That is a _bad_ idea.” Sam warned, before Dean even said a word. Dean gave him a soft glare, shaking his head.

“Don't tell me how to live my life.” He argued. “Besides, I wasn't going to do it, anyways.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, knowing him all too well. Dean really freaking wanted to go and do it, and he would do everything in his power to find a good enough excuse to be a fucknut. It was what he _did_.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don't you move on. Leave it behind.” Sam challenged. Dean was about to snip something back, but Castiel interrupted.

“What are you two even talking about?” He questioned, standing. He'd been crouched in the dirt, gathering some moss in a small vial. Something about it having a lot of magical properties or some other bullshit, Dean didn't pay much attention. He was too busy staring at the wooden beauty stretching across the deep dip in the earth, hovering a good seven feet off the ground, at least.

“Dean wants to be a dumbass and go climb across that log.” Sam informed him, gesturing. Castiel turned and looked at it, eyebrows scrunching.

“That would be highly impractical. You could get seriously injured if something were to go wrong, and you have no clue how long it's been fallen. The wood could be rotten and incapable of handling your weight.”

“Are you callin' me fat?” Dean questioned, patting his stomach. Admittedly, he carried a little extra pudge around. But he couldn't exactly help it; he'd been to visit Donna and Jody a couple of times since moving in with Cas, to preform small repairs around their B&B. Donna had a fresh piece of pecan pie ready when he arrived every time.

“That's the stupidest thing I've heard you say to date, and it's got some heavy competition.” Castiel said, flatly. Sam immediately cracked up, his laugh echoing off the trees.

“C'mon, Cas, don't be like that.” Dean teased. “Besides, it's a tradition. Sam and I have been daring each other to crawl across logs since we were kids. Dad used to send us out to hike all the time, usually unsupervised. It went on for years.”

“Yeah, until I fell off of a log and _broke my arm_.” Sam pointed out, holding up his left hand and giving Dean bitchface #24 and a ½. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and you whined about it like a baby.” He said. His arms were crossed over his chest. Sam was smiling, and his eyes kept darting back and forth between Dean and the log. It was clear that even he wanted to restart the old tradition.

“You two are crazy. Even if I had been given the opportunity, I never would have done something so dangerous as a child.”

“You literally do witchcraft, Cas. Isn't that dangerous?” Dean questioned, before the real truth of what Cas had just said hit him. “Wait, you've never done anything like this? As in, _ever_?”

“No, I haven't. Why are you so surprised?” Castiel questioned.

“Because this is like a right of passage. You have to have some kind of boyhood before you can enter into manhood.” Dean said. Something a little irritated and sad flashed in Cas's eyes, and Dean realized his mistake. “Or, well, agendered-hood, or whatever. The point is, you missed out, and we're not gonna stand for it.”

Castiel looked pleased. It had been on Dean's mind a lot lately- He'd been using it to justify some thoughts he had, and Cas had subtly mentioned a couple of times that he'd been bothered by the amount of customers that referred to him as a man.

“Thank you. But I don't think endangering myself is going to make up for-” He started. Dean didn't want to hear it any more, so he reached out and grabbed Cas's hand, not even realizing what he'd done until Cas looked up at him sharply.

He turned, unable to stomach the sharp stare. He laughed, feeling the blush spread across his cheeks as he dragged Cas down and over to the log, slowly working his way through the forest.

“You're not seriously going to make me do this.” Castiel stated.

“Of course I'm not gonna make you. Deep down, you really, really want to. Over all, I'm not even gonna have to convince you.” Dean teased. Of course, somehow, he _knew_ that Castiel was wanting to do this. He wasn't sure how, but he did. Something in the tilt of his head, the way his eyes lingered on the bark.

“That's preposterous.” Castiel said, wrinkling his nose.

“You guys had better be careful!” Sam declared, worried. Of course, his voice still held a little bit of wonder. Dean had no doubt that he would probably run down here as soon as they were done and cross it himself.

“We will!” Dean shouted back, finally coming to settle in front of the log. Up close, he could see that it was covered in a light layer of moss, soft green stretching across the wood in patchy patterns. But, no mushrooms. Which, of course, was a good thing.

Mushrooms meant decomposition. He'd probably still cross the log anyways, but it would be more dangerous.

He let go of Cas's hand so he could use his arms to help him balance. He took the first, shaky step onto the log, feeling his ankles quake as adrenaline started to flood into his system. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before taking another step.

Step, step, step. He was about a fifth of the way across the log when he heard it, motion coming from behind him. He smiled, slowly turning himself so that he could see Cas. He was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and trained on the ground as if it was going to jump up at him.

“You're doing fine.” Dean reassured. Especially for his first time. Dean knew that he himself had likely taken much longer to get onto logs than that, and could remember a few times when he'd actually chickened out, even when he was older. It looked so much higher off the ground once you were here, right above it.

“I feel like I'm going to die.” Castiel spat, taking another wobbly step. “If I do, please make sure Gabriel isn't in charge of the finances at the House. We'd be bankrupt in under a week.”

“Shut up. C'mon, you're great. Just put your arms out to help you balance. You'll be fine.” Dean said. He worked on making his voice soothing and gentle, and Castiel seemed to relax a great deal.

“Okay.” He mumbled, sticking his arms out and taking another step, tentatively.

Step, step, step. Now he was getting the hang of it.

Dean turned and began to walk across the log, letting the adrenaline chase through him, making his senses heightened and muscles feel numb. They made it through about half of the log with nothing going wrong, just nature and sunlight shining down in a modge-podge pattern in between branches. Peaceful.

Then, there was a loud thud from behind Dean. He turned just a little too sharply, and the log shook underneath his feet. He quickly steadied himself, heart pounding as he almost lost his balance, then glanced up to see Castiel. His chest was pressed against the log and arms were wrapped around it like it was a savior. Dean resisted the mean and callous urge to laugh at Cas, but was more than relieved that Cas was okay than amused by his clumsiness.

“How you holding up, buddy?”

“I've been better.” Cas spat back. Dean laughed, and the branch wobbled. His ankles were shaking a little harder now, more than they had been earlier. Looks like Cas's scare had affected him more than he'd like to admit.

Dean slowly bent over before falling down all at once, hands landing on soft wood and bark pressing into his knees. He steadied himself and swung his legs over the side, sitting still like that. “Sit with me, Cas. Enjoy the beauty of nature.”

Castiel looked reluctant, but he did push himself up and throw his legs over the edge of the log. Dean watched as he steadied himself and looked at him from the side of his eyes, just slightly tilting his head.

“Okay. Now what?” He questioned. His breathing was a little bit heavier than usual, and Dean found himself weirdly enjoying the rise and fall of Cas's chest. Like he had done his job right, gotten him worked up.

“Now, we just enjoy being up here. Like some civilized adults.” He teased. He could almost feel the eye-roll Castiel was probably giving him.

“It is... Quaint.” Castiel admitted, fondly. His eyes scanned over the forest, and Dean felt himself melt a little. Now that was better.

“Not the word I would use for the great and rugged outdoors, but...” Dean said, shrugging. Castiel shot him a playful glare, but it was overshadowed by the look of happiness and relaxation that was prevalent in his eyes. He had just gotten a huge shot of adrenaline walking across this so far, and being still was helping him to calm down and take a break from it. The peace, the eye of the hurricane, if you will.

“You know, I think I have to admit before I go the rest of the way that I'm glad that I did this. It's nice being up here, with you.” Castiel admitted. He turned and looked directly into Dean's eyes, and Dean felt his lips pull up into a beaming smile.

He set his hand on top of Cas's on the log, barely even registering what he was doing until it was already done. He quickly turned his head away, blushing. The log swayed the smallest degree as Castiel began to swing his feet, admiring the view of the ground.

“I think that's enough.” Dean said, after a little silence. “We should finish crossing and then get back to Sam. He's probably waiting for his turn.”

~~~

Sam did, in fact, get his turn on the log.

When they finally stopped rooting around in the forest, collecting various types of bark and mosses and dirt and even a couple of rocks that Castiel liked, they walked the rest of the way across the trail and came out in a large field, overlooking a beautiful lake.

Dean watched as Sam ran straight towards the sand, making loud and enthusiastic noises. Dean thought he was probably gonna do something stupid and nerdy like look at the algae and use it to tell what kind of fish lived in the lake, but he dropped to his knees and immediately took two fistfulls of sand. He started building a sand castle.

There weren't a lot of places in Tennessee that had lakes, especially a lot of places where said lakes were deserted. In fact, Dean was fairly sure he'd read some kind of stupid factoid sometime that said that Tennessee had the smallest number of lakes of any of the states.

Not that he really remembered, because he wasn't a giant nerd.

“So... A couple friends, huh?” Dean questioned. Castiel smirked, bending over and setting the picnic basket down before opening it up and retrieving the blanket. He found one end and immediately shoved the other end to Dean, forcing him into helping.

“A couple friends who just so happen to own this land and kick off anyone who isn't pagan or they don't know.” He said. “They're trying to leave this place “untainted” by people who have no appreciation for nature.”

“Then why did you bring me?” Dean asked, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, he felt like he shouldn't be there. Weirdly enough, sorta like he didn't deserve to be there. He shook his head to clear it briefly before focusing back in on Cas.

“You... I trust you not to desecrate this place. It's holy in and of it's own right, and I think you could feel that.” Castiel admitted.

“You really think that highly of me?” Dean questioned, only partially teasing. Castiel looked up sharply, and his eyes were so deeply sincere that Dean's stomach jumped to his throat.

“Of course. You're a good man, Dean.” Castiel complimented. Dean swallowed, shaking his head to clear it as they broke eye contact. He helped Castiel lay the blanket down and Cas dragged the picnic basket onto it, opening it up and bringing out a large sandwich. Dean's mouth started to water.

“Sammy!” He called. Sam dropped whatever he was doing and sprinted back up to the two of them, his hand clutched around something like it was a prize.

Dean leaned forward as he slowed.

“What's that?” He questioned. Sam beamed at him, plopping down and sticking out his hand. He opened his fingers to reveal a shell, large and crusted with sand.

“Look what I found on the beach!” He exclaimed. Dean rolled his eyes, but Castiel looked intrigued.

“Are there any more? I'd like to add some shells to my Altar for Aphrodite.” Castiel said, peering at the one in Sam's hand. Sam smiled.

“There are plenty more. You can have this one, too, if you want.” He said, holding it out to Castiel. Cas hesitated before shaking his head.

“No. I want to find them myself. You were clearly proud of that shell, I'd like you to keep it.” Castiel said. Sam's eyes lit up.

“Thanks, man.”

They ate their food in mostly silence, the occasional biting remark or playful banter the only thing that interrupted the peace. When they were finished, Dean helped Castiel pack up and put the blanket into the basket, cleaning up after themselves. Sam immediately took off down to the beach again, running and dropping to his knees in the sand.

“Are you going to go and pick up shells with him?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded his head, leaving the picnic basket where it was and walking over to the sand. Dean found himself following, although that wasn't originally what he intended. The sand was hypnotically warm under his boots, to the point where he could almost feel it against his skin, even through the rubber. Then again, it could be his imagination.

“Are you going to help us?” Castiel asked. Dean nodded, dropping his eyes to the sand.

The three of them walked for what felt like hours and seconds all at once, Dean stooping to pick up shells whenever he found one big enough for them. Some of these things clearly housed monster snails, and he loathed to think about what it would be like to find one of those sitting in your backyard.

He smiled as he saw Cas, walking the line where the water meets the sand, his arms outstretched like he was on the log.

“Like she's walking, on a wire, in a circus,” Dean breathed in a light melody, smiling. It'd been awhile since he'd thought of that song. It was one of his favorites, if he was honest.

Ever since the accident, it kinda made him think of the way his dad fell apart. But in a comforting way, oddly enough. Like, even though it wasn't okay, it was still gonna be okay.

“Are you guys ready to go? I don't think I can carry any more.” Sam admitted, holding out two overflowing hand fulls of shells as proof. Dean shook his head at his excessively chipper younger brother.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean teased.

“I think we're ready.” Castiel said. Dean smiled.

This had been a good day. Relaxing.

Castiel walked up towards the picnic, putting his hand fulls of shells into the basket. He handed Dean the entire thing, and Dean's eyes widened when the weight was suddenly in his arms.

“You get to carry it on the hike home.” Castiel said. Dean was too happy to complain- or, I mean,  _comply,_ of course.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm gonna be making this story a "cover" soon.  
> For those of you who don't know, there's some stuff about AO3 that's up in the air right now. No reason to panic, but I'm just getting all my ducks in a row just in case. So this story will be going on wattpad. In the event that something awful happens, you guys will know where to find it. Oh, also, tumblr. My tumblr would have updates.  
> Tomorrow I start my writing binge to finish my Christmas fic, wish me luck!  
> Also, please give me some comments. Two things I did good and one thing I did bad would be like, SUPER appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a review that upset me to the point where ever time I tried to write I got angry again. In result, I didn't write for a week. Not anything. During the weeks leading up to finals, which is arguably the most stressful time of the year. So, from now on, if I could request people show me a little bit of respect and remember I'm human too, that would be great. This author's note will be moved to the front of the fic in a couple of weeks.  
> So, first and last time I'm saying this.  
> What I'm representing here are my personal beliefs. They are in no way meant to mimic or represent the beliefs or everyone who follows witchcraft paths, practices magic, or reads tarot.   
> I never said they were. I thought this was common sense.   
> So, without further ado, and since it is impossible to accurately represent every witchcraft practice in a single fic, I's like to say that anything here is subjective. AKA, just what I believe, nothing I say necessarily represents everyone or even the majority of people. Including, but not limited to; Belief in multiple gods, belief in a tarot spirit, belief in spirit keeping, belief in selling psychic services for money, etc. Again, just for clarification; Anything here that you read? Someone else in the witchcraft community doesn't believe it. It's a broad community. Since this is a fictional story, and due to the writing POV I've chosen to go best with that story, my beliefs will for the most part be presented textually as truth.   
> Just because lots of people don't agree doesn't invalidate my beliefs, however, and I expect everyone to be respectful.  
> Thanks!   
> On a happier note, this chapter is one I've been excited about! It's talking about the practice that first got me into witchcraft! More info at the bottom.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Dean asked. It was hot. Hot, and currently, cramped. The staircase was small, and the hallway they were in wasn't all that bright.

“I already told you, a customer wants to see Balthazar. Which means I have to come up here and make sure his work space is presentable.” Castiel said, irritation dripping off of his voice. “There have been one too many incidences otherwise.”

“Why haven't we been up here before, then?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Most of Balthazar's customers are online. He's a summoner. He works with and summons spirits that people request. And he's one of the best.” Castiel informed him. Dean resisted the urge to scoff.

“Right, because selling magic on the internet sounds like a real great business practice. 'Trust me, I'm a witch!' Because that doesn't sound like a scam.” Dean huffed. Really, he was just cranky that they had to come up here at all. He'd much rather watch Castiel give tarot readings.

“He's often times dealing with witches, warlocks, and the like himself. It's probably not a good idea to piss someone off if you don't know what kind of power they're packing.” Castiel said, knocking again on the little wooden door. There was the sound of shuffling inside. “Balthazar doesn't, and wouldn't, sell a faulty product.”

“Then why don't they just summon spirits themselves if they already know how to do magic?” Dean asked. He never got people like that; maybe it was just the way he was raised, but if he could do it himself, he did it himself. He didn't have the money to waste on something that he already knew how to do.

“Because,” A voice came, and the door swung backwards to reveal a tall, blonde man with a brittish accent, “I'm the absolute best at what I do.”

~~~

Castiel stared blankly at his friend.

“You were waiting for the right moment to open the door so you could be a drama queen, weren't you?” Castiel asked, his tone flat. Balthazar pretended to be offended. Castiel was suddenly reminded of just how long they'd been friends now. Certainly long enough for Cas to see past his absolute bullshit.

“Oh, pish posh. Drama Queen... More like thespian. Are you two going to come in?”

Castiel stepped forward, trusting that Dean would follow him. As usual, Balthazar's lights were turned off, allowing the light of the sun to illuminate the room through a couple of small windows. A few sigils were sketched into the wooden walls in chalk or ash. Castiel knew them to be protective sigils. It was, for the most part, fairly clean. In fact, it was almost the best that Castiel had ever seen it.

“You have a customer who wants to see you downstairs.” He remarked. Balthazar's eyebrows shot up.

“It's Sarah, right? She's here to pick up the dragon I summoned for her?” He questioned.

Dean's head immediately turned, fast as lightning. “Excuse you?”

“I believe you heard me. You're fairly new to this whole thing, correct?”

“Yeah, and I think you just said something about a dragon. When Cas started talking about spirits, I thought he meant dead people. What do you mean, _dragon_?” He asked. Castiel just then realized that Dean didn't know all that much about Spirit Keeping.

“Cas?” Balthazar asked, ignoring Dean's question. He turned towards Castiel, eyebrows raised. Castiel immediately dropped his eyes, shuffling his feet awkwardly for a few seconds before deciding that he should really get this whole thing back on track.

“Yes, dragons exist.” he confirmed, breaking the ice. “And the same woman was here about a month ago asking for a gargoyle. And before that, a phoenix.”

“So, you're trying to tell me that all of those things exist?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“That and more.” Balthazar purred, standing tall. He was clearly proud of his ability to woo people. Castiel was more than aware that Dean was not wooed, but was probably freaking out a little bit.

“Okay. And how exactly does that work? Wouldn't people see them just... Flying around all the time?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the air. He was clearly skeptical. Cas could sense that something bad was about to happen.

Balthazar's eyes narrowed.

Castiel interrupted before he could speak. “They're not on this plane of existence, they can just influence it.”

“Then how do you know it's really them, and not... I dunno, you doing accidental magic?” Dean questioned. He was calming down a little now.

Suddenly, some light clicks resounded in the room. They were slow, careful, deliberately stepping towards Dean. All at once, they stopped. Everyone went still, Balthazar looking triumphant. Castiel could feel dread rise in his stomach. So far, Dean had taken magic well. But he'd never seen a sign this clear that all of this was real unless it came directly from a person. And Castiel knew exactly what was going on here.

He just hoped that Dean would take it all better than he expected him to.

“What. Was. That?” Dean questioned. Balthazar, like the massive drama queen he was, just couldn't help himself.

“Oh, you know. It was just the sound of my hellhound's nails clicking against the ground. Don't worry, they're quite harmless. They have a bad reputation, but...”

“Balthazar.” Castiel interrupted, glaring at his friend. He could tell that Dean was trying to hold it together, but Cas could practically see the goosebumps rising along Dean's arms. He was freaked out, and he could _feel_ something.

“Oh, come on, Cassie. He has to learn some time.” Balthazar said. Castiel gritted his teeth. He loved Balthazar. Somewhere deep, deep, _deep_ down, he did. But he acted like an idiot sometimes.

“Yes, but nobody threw you in head first, did they? In fact, if I recall, you almost pissed your pants the first time you actually felt a spirit's presence, and you called that one yourself. Or did you forget about telling me that?” Castiel asked. His words had the desired effect.

Dean relaxed, looking at Balthazar. “Really?”

“It was a bad year for me, I barely believed in it, and I wanted something to do. I wasn't expecting anything to actually come.” Balthazar said. Then, with a wave of his hand, the heavy presence disappeared.

Castiel had learned to like that presence. Balthazar had four hellhounds, and Cas would hear their nails click against the floor or feel their presence by his side sometimes. Balthazar had even given Cas one of their nicknames, claiming that she was “Fond” of him. All he had to do was mentally call for her, and she would be there.

He used to do it, when he got nightmares. But Balthazar started asking questions that were just a little too personal, and he stopped summoning her then. He knew she was just trying to help, but he also didn't want Balthazar's input on the situation.

“Well, neither was he.” Castiel said, gesturing towards Dean. “And he clearly felt something. Didn't you?”

Cas's eyes settled on him. Dean shrank back.

“Um... Sort of?” He said. Balthazar's eyebrows, (if it was even possible at this point considering how haughty he'd been before,) raised even further.

“ _Sort of?_ That was _my_ summoning work. It was one of the best manifestations of spirit that you'll ever see.” Balthazar said, puffing up like a peacock trying to impress a potential mate.

Suddenly, Castiel got that weird, angry feeling in his stomach again. Like someone was trying to take something away from him, and he should really be pissed about it. He took a step forward, in between Dean and Balthazar.

“You're just lucky she felt like playing along. Nine times out of ten none of your spirits do things when you ask them to.” Castiel pointed out. Balthazar tended to summon spirits who acted like him. Which, of course, meant that any who had the choice in whether or not to be difficult were. (Certain spirits, for example, white-arts spirits, were always good in nature. Grey-arts spirits could be good or bad, depending on how they chose.

“My dragons are very loyal. Besides, the rest of them listen when it counts.” Balthazar said, sticking his tongue out in retaliation. Castiel was almost certain he was imitating a face that Sam made at Dean, (What was it that Dean had called it? A bitchface?) but he didn't care.

“Whatever you say.” Castiel said, shaking his head.

“Okay, so. Let me get this straight.” Dean said, putting his hands up. He looked at Balthazar. “You summon spirits. People pay you to summon spirits for them. You can ask them to do things, but sometimes they don't listen. And this isn't... I dunno, crazy? Or Dangerous?”

“Well, crazy, no. Dangerous? A little bit. Being a spirit keeper can attract bad spirits. And that's another reason why people pay me to summon; unless you're familiar with the energies of spirits, it would be easy to mistake something sinister that showed up uninvited for the real thing. I got very lucky that the first one I summoned wasn't something evil in disguise.”

“So, people pay you to do this because they could fuck it up?” Dean questioned. Balthazar shrugged.

“It's just business. By the way, my succubus is checking you out. Then again, she checks out everyone.” Balthazar teased. Dean looked confused. He paused for a few minutes, making the most unattractive face Castiel had ever seen.

And somehow managing to still look attractive in it.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.

“Okay. This is all getting to be a little too much for me. Are we gonna go now, or...?” Dean questioned. Castiel started to walk towards the door, but Balthazar reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm, stopping him.

Castiel turned back. There was something in Balthazar's eyes that made him want to stay behind. After all, Balthazar let down some of his facade when it was just the two of them, and Cstiel missed his psuedo-brother. He always did when Balthazar took off like that.

Balthazar had a large family. Most of which were into witchcraft, which was where he'd heard of it. His parents had hit the lottery before he was born, and had managed to be smart about it. They'd turned their half a million into half a billion by the time Balthazar was a senior in high school. And, well... One family reunion with some witchy relatives later, and Balthazar decided that he wanted to study it. He'd summoned his first spirit over winter break, and he'd never gone back to the normal life.

Not that you really could, with spirits. Castiel knew that Balthazar was emotionally attached to each and every one of them.

“Dean, go on downstairs. Tell Sarah that we'll be down in a minute with her dragon.” Castiel told Dean. Dean looked like he was ready to argue for a moment, but thought better of it. The tension that clung in the air must have affected him as well.

Castiel didn't take his eyes off of Balthazar. Not when he heard Dean sigh and walk away, not when he heard the door shut, not as Dean's footsteps were slowly growing farther and farther away from them.

He pulled his arm out of Balthazar's hand.

“I'm not stupid.” Balthazar said, plainly. Castiel blinked.

“Could've fooled me.” He said. Then, he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Balthazar called. Castiel paused, turning back around again. “What I mean is that we're good enough friends that I can tell when you're trying to hide something. You like Tall Dark and Ken Doll.”

Castiel could feel his teeth grit together. “And what is your point?”

“Ah! So you do like him!” Balthazar declared, rather triumphantly. Castiel's eyes widened and a rush of addrenaline overtook him as he stepped forward and clamped a hand firmly over Balthazar's mouth. Balthazar's eyes got wide, but he stayed still and quiet.

“He might hear you.” Castiel warned, withdrawing his hand. Balthazar raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, and that would be a bad thing? Because he clearly likes you back.”

“He's heterosexual, Balthazar.”

“Right, and I went to college to be the dentist my parents always wanted.” He responded, curtly. Castiel tried not to glare, but it was hard. So, he gave up and glared anyways.

“You're not helping right now.” Castiel said. “Why are you bringing this up?”

Balthazar's eyes softened. “Because, I care about you. You may be an idiot, but you're my idiot. And I don't want you getting hurt because you waited too long and he thought you didn't return it and then started to date someone else. Because that will happen, and it will bother you.”

“He doesn't belong to me.” Cas argued, crossing his arms across his chest.

“No, no he doesn't.” Balthazar agreed. “But that's not going to stop you from being upset that someone else is getting his romantic attention when you're not. I just think that you should think about going for it.”

“I'm never doing that.” Castiel said, firmly. He turned. He felt his muscles slowly relax as he let out a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Listen. I know you mean well. But I just don't know enough about him to know whether or not this is a good idea, and he's living in my house. What if he feels obligated to go out with me because I technically have the power to kick him out?”

“That's... I never thought of it that way. But Cassie, anyone who knows you at all knows that you would never do that. And that boy? The way he looks when you're not looking at him? He definitely knows you well enough to know that.” Balthazar said. Castiel scrabbled to find another excuse. Not that the last one was an excuse; it was a valid point. “Plus, you can always just verbally tell him when you ask him out. He'll believe you.”

“He's heterosexual. It will put unnecessary strain on our friendship if he knows that I'm attracted to him.” Castiel said, feeling as though he'd just put Balthazar into a checkmate. Balthazar knew all about attraction making things awkward between people. He'd broken a couple of friendships that way when he was younger and just figuring out that he was queer.

Then again, things were different now, even just five years later. And Dean wasn't a bigot.

“I guess you're right. Fine, be a sissy if you want. I don't care.” Balthazar said. Castiel could, of course, tell that he really cared a great deal. Not just about what happened with this, but with Castiel himself.

“Thank you. Balthazar?” Castiel asked. He reached out, grabbing the door handle that lead to the steps. When he was sure Balthazar was paying attention, Castiel said, “You're a good friend.”

“I know. Stop being a sob before I ruin these sigils with throw up.” He announced. Castiel smiled, a small, happy smile. Then, he opened the door downstairs.

~~~

It was a difficult game, he had to admit.

Pushing everything at once was hard. Especially when that was really all Castiel knew about playing. He wasn't even sure he had all the random buttons figured out yet. Still, he felt as though he was starting to get the hang of this “Mario Kart”.

Or, at least, he wasn't crashing into as much stuff.

Dean had promised that after this they would play something called “Kingdom Hearts”. Castiel wasn't sure how their latest tarot lesson had turned into a video game session, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. Dean was beating him, but he liked video games. It gave his hands something to do, kept his mind clear.

It also made him really, really frustrated.

“Dean Winchester, if you throw one more goddamned blue shell at me, I'm going to kick your ass.” Castiel growled, pressing hard on the buttons. Dean let out a laugh, loud and smooth and beautiful, and it briefly distracted him.

He turned. It was only when Dean turned to look at him back that he realized that he'd been staring. Dean's eyes held his, something intense and intimate and beautiful and all theirs, just theirs.

Until the moment was shattered by Gabriel waltzing into the room and sitting right in between them on the couch. “You two both ran off the road. You both suck at this game.”

“What fucking ever. Like you could do any better.” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. Gabriel laughed.

“Alright, fine. There are two remotes here that are unused.” Gabriel said. Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Tempting. But as I remember it, I kicked your ass last time.”

“Boys, boys, boys.” Came a voice, familiar and cool from the doorway. There was a tongue-clicking. Pamela waited a few moments before continuing, “I may be blind, but even I can see that I'm the best in the house.”

Thirty minutes later, Dean and Castiel were both disqualified from the finals. The entire house was in the same room, gathered around the little television, while Pamela and Sam went at each other, racing all around the screen.

“HOW ARE YOU BEATING ME?” Sam yelled. “YOU'RE LITERALLY BLIND.”

“Suck my walking cane, Winchester.” Pamela said, as she crossed the finishing line. There was a great whooping from half of the room and a chorus of disappointed noises from the other. Everyone in the house had picked a side.

Castiel felt... Well, the only way to really describe it was joy. They'd been drifting further and further apart lately, becoming strangers in their own homes, to their own families. And it might not be quite ideal, and everyone here had their own flaws. But this was his home. His Home for the Psychically Gifted, to be precise.

Oh, and Dean Winchester. Dean would always be welcome here.

He glanced back over towards his friend, who was smiling and hugging Sam, congratulating him on getting second place in what he dubbed the “First annual house Mario Kart Championship.”

He glanced up at Castiel, and Cas felt a warm smile pass across his face.

He didn't need to be anything more than friends with Dean. This was more than enough. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... As I'm posting this it's 40 minutes away from my 17th birthday. Okay, 30 minutes now that that author's note is done. Please leave reviews that are nice for me to read.  
> If you'd like to read more about spirit keeping, you can totally look at Creepy Hollows (Creepyhollows.com) for amazing info. They have a huge encyclopedia and tons of information.   
> Don't summon your first spirit yourself, kids. I technically did and nothing bad happened. But something bad COULD have happened and it could have been really bad.   
> Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my younger brother's birthday today, and I am awake at 2 AM publishing fanfiction. I don't know why this amuses me, but it does.  
> Follow me on tumblr @MysticMoonhigh if you'd like! Or you can follow my witchcraft blog @universal-magick (which got like 100 new followers practically overnight??)  
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter. I wanted to present a character who was sweet while also representing the sheer amount of casual ace-phobia that there is in our culture, and thus we have Martha. (Who I gave my Grandmother's name because I love my Grandma, and not because my Grandma is ace-phobic).  
> I am sorry I've taken so very long to update this. You have no idea the kind of circus I went through with Christmas this year XD

Castiel packed away his cards, storing them safely into the small travel container.

“Tell me again why we're doing this?” Dean asked. “It seems like a lot of trouble to go to for one customer.”

Castiel looked back at him, and he squinted his eyes. Dean didn't understand how customer service or basic human decency worked sometimes.

“Because she was my customer for the first three years of business. She was there and helped me get on my feet when nobody else was. Besides, we don't open for three more hours.” Castiel reminded him. Dean groaned.

“ _Exactly_ , Cas. Why couldn't we do this some other time? Like, I dunno, _after closing_? It's six A.M., and this lady is eighty. Shouldn't she be asleep right now?”

“Shouldn't you be getting your tarot deck?” Castiel asked. Dean immediately went silent.

Castiel wished that he knew what kept bothering Dean about tarot. Maybe he had, in fact, picked the wrong deck? Maybe Cas should have left him unblindfolded, and let him pick another one. Or, maybe, when he moved the decks, their energies got confused?

Whatever it was, Castiel didn't like it. He wanted Dean to be comfortable and happy with his lessons.

“I don't even have the cards memorized, Cas. You know I'm shit at that.” Dean argued. Castiel turned back and raised his eyebrows.

“And what did I tell you about memorizing the cards?” He questioned.

Dean rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. Cas could hear the tarot box opening and closing, and he knew that Dean was retrieving his deck.

Tarot was a lot less about knowing what the cards were meant to say, and a lot more about listening to what they meant in that context. Cas knew many powerful and expert readers who didn't have the meanings of the cards memorized, but rather went off of what they felt the cards were telling them in that moment. Some even read based off of what the pictures looked like.

Dean could be powerful.

“You ready to go?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded, grabbing his bag that contained a small amount of his metaphysical supplies and swinging it over his shoulder. He allowed himself to be lead outside and approached Dean's truck, opening the back door and swinging his bag in the back seat. He slammed the door and opened up the passenger one, getting into the car.

No matter how much Castiel wished that Dean would knock it off and let him drive, he seemed hyper-attached to his car.

“So, where to?” Dean asked. Castiel slowly began to relax as Dean turned the key and the car began to purr. It was foggy out this morning, and the grey of the sky made everything look like a black and white photo. These were the mornings that Castiel loved, a big part of the reason he moved down to Tennessee.

“If you'd just let me drive, I wouldn't have to constantly give you instruction.” Cas teased. Dean let out a huff and started to back out of the driveway.

Thirty minutes of driving. Thirty minutes of hills that rolled and beautiful trees stretching towards the slowly bluing sky. Castiel was giving Dean directions the entire way, though he was a little distracted by just how amazingly fresh the air felt in his lungs.

“And make the last turn here, into this little house.” Castiel finally said.

As weird as it was, he was almost sad for the drive to be over. The mostly-silence between them was comforting. Castiel could hardly think of another time he'd felt so connected to another human being without even having to think.

“Okay, so we're here?” Dean asked, peering up at the little yellow house. Castiel rolled his eyes.

“No, I told you this was the house specifically to waste time. Please, Dean, retrieve your cards.” Cas responded promptly, feeling a little smug as he swung out of the car and got his own supplies.

“Why did you even have me bring my deck?” Dean questioned, wrinkling his nose. “It's not like I'm gonna use it.”

“Yes, but you should be adjusting to the energy. You've been avoiding the deck for weeks now since I've began teaching you, you need to get used to it.” Castiel said. “The more time you spend around your deck, the more in-tune with it you'll be.”

Dean gave a groan that Castiel ignored. He walked up the steps and approached the door, rapping on it lightly with the back of his knuckles. He waited patiently for Martha's caregiver to answer the door, knowing that she was often times in too much pain to do it herself.

To his surprise, when the door swung open, Martha was standing there herself.

“Castiel! Do come in.” She gushed, stepping aside. Castiel took a moment to get over his shock before he stepped through the door, gesturing for Dean to follow him in.

“I see your arthritis is doing well today.” He commented. Martha waved her hand in a dismissive gesture as she walked over to the couch, slowly lowering herself down. She grabbed her coffee off of the table and looked up at him expectantly.

Castiel took the seat across from her, a large, pink armchair that had been scooted close enough to the table for him to do his reading there. He took out his Mystical Cats deck and set it on the table. He had two more in case she wasn't in the mood to hear from that one, (or in case the deck spirit wasn't in the mood to give him an accurate reading) but she usually heard from the Cats well enough.

“I got a shot to help with the arthritis pain. My hips and feet are feeling so much better. I gave Evelyn the day off.” She informed him. Castiel smiled. Evelyn was her caregiver; a sweet, young girl who came around in the mornings to make sure that she had everything ready for the day. She usually only stayed for a couple of hours, but more times than not Castiel came during her time here.

“That's lovely. Do you want me to do a reading on how long it will last, or do you have something else in mind?” Castiel questioned. The woman thought, her hand raising to clutch the small cross she wore as a necklace.

“I had a new grandchild born in the family. Could you tell me a bit about his past life?” She asked. Castiel perked up. Martha had only ever asked for a past life reading once before. He knew that this was one region of the metaphysical that she was doubtful about. She was a Christian client, and though most of them didn't agree wholly with the bible's teachings, many still clung to the idea of an eternal heaven.

Martha was one of those people who tended to cling.

“Of course. I'd be happy to do that.” Castiel answered. He decided to go for a standard, ten-card reading that would tell a little bit about the kinds of struggles and triumphs that her grandson had faced in the past. He touched the deck, silently asking if the cats were up to it.

He felt the deck spirit enthusiastically respond.

There were certain people that one or more of his decks tended to be attached or drawn to. When he came across someone like that, he could almost certainly guarantee that the deck would always want to read for them. The Cats were picky, but they liked Martha. She was gentle and kind, and funny as hell if you got to know her.

“So, who is this?” Martha questioned, turning towards Dean. Castiel smirked.

“It's my assistant, Dean Winchester. He's trying to learn some things. For now, he just runs repairs around the house.” Castiel informed her.

“Oh! Did he finally get that leaky faucet fixed?” She questioned. Castiel nodded. “Good! That thing always sprayed water all over my shoes. Glad to see something's being done about it. And Castiel, it's about time you settled down.”

Castiel froze. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you two are a couple, aren't you? I always said you just needed to meet the right person.”

Castiel almost groaned out loud.

“I'm- No. I mean, I'm not-- _We're_ not,” Dean started. He had a blush on his face. Castiel decided to interrupt.

“No, we're not a couple. And I am grey-ace, that's exactly what I said as well. Though there was a strong posibility that I wouldn't have met someone, and that would have been okay, and continues to be okay for thousands of asexual and aromantic identifying individuals. I do not need romantic or sexual attraction to find my life fulfilling.” He said, trying to be patient.

When he'd first came out of the closet, Martha had been one of the people he told. She'd laughed and insisted that there was no way he couldn't be attracted to _anyone._ She had come around a great deal in the last few years. She still made comments that occasionally got under his skin, but she did better now about acknowledging his identity as valid.

Unfortunately, she still had some slip-ups.

“Oh. Well, Castiel, I hope you do find someone, if that's what you want. I'm sorry, dear. A little forgetful these days, I am.” She admitted. Castiel nodded his head, accepting the apology.

Casual ace-phobia had been practically ingrained into society. She was making an effort and apologized when she did screw up, which meant a lot to him.

“That's alright. Now, do you want me to begin my reading?” He asked. She nodded her head.

~~~

Dean watched as Castiel rambled on about past lives and this woman's grandson.

He was glad that Cas had gotten an apology, but it still pissed him off a little bit.

He'd dated a couple of bisexual girls. One who said she was “pansexual”. He wasn't quite sure what the difference was, but that didn't matter much to him. He'd seen a lot of shade thrown at them from families, friends, and people in general. (Dean hated most people).

He couldn't even imagine what it must be like to be like Cas.

“Why doesn't he help you out?” Martha asked. It took Dean a second to realize that she was looking directly at him.

“What?” He asked, blinking. He felt a little sheepish, and both of them were staring at him like they knew something he didn't. Which was probably true, since Dean tended to remind himself that he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box by doing dumb shit.

“Dean, why don't you come over and do a couple of cards for Martha?” Castiel asked. Dean froze.

“You want me to read?” He questioned. He felt a weird sort of energy coming from his deck, urging him to go and give her a reading. He knew, logically, that it was all in his head.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. Because he _did_ want to, and he wanted to really fucking bad. He wanted to do the things that Sammy and Cas and Missouri could do, but he couldn't. It didn't come naturally to him. It was like fighting against the current while watching everyone else drift by you in pool floaties.

“I don't think I should.” Dean said, shaking his head. Martha looked disappointed, and he felt a pang of regret.

But no matter how bad he felt about disappointing the poor old woman, he wasn't gonna do it. No freaking way.

“Come on, Dean.” Castiel pleaded. Dean made the mistake of looking into those blue eyes, and he couldn't look away. “It'll only take a second. And it'll be your first time reading, nobody is expecting you to get it right.”

Dean hesitated. He could do that, if he really wanted to. He could stroll forward and slam some cards on the table and just bullshit his way through it. Hell, he was pretty sure that was what most psychics did anyways. He knew that, likely, most of the “psychics” out there were frauds.

“Alright.” He relented. He reached into his pocket and took out his deck, beginning to shuffle the cards.

He felt them warm under his touch, and he finally felt some kind of a spark. He tentatively turned the deck to where he found it, but it didn't feel quite right. He knew he was a few cards off, but he didn't feel like he could find it. Besides, all of this was fake anyways, right?

Dean's least favorite feeling was uncertainty. It had been around for him for fucking ages. He'd been uncertain over whether or not they'd get away from their father, uncertain over whether or not his brother was actually gifted, and uncertain over whether or not he should take Sammy away and try to give him a better life.

He'd been uncertain about his feelings for Cas, uncertain about the House in general, uncertain about whether or not they were really safe here.

The worst feeling in the fucking world was uncertainty. And here he sat, fucking bathing in it, and putting a fake smile on his face.

He could feel his body tensing. He didn't wanna be here right now, and he hoped he wasn't doing that thing he did with his jaw when he was uncomfortable. It was obvious, and he didn't want to show weakness in front of these people.

He flipped over cards. Maybe a little too hard, he couldn't tell. He stared at them blankly, trying to brush off the energy that he felt.

 _It's just my fucking imagination_. He thought, stubbornly. There was no way he could feel or do things like Sammy, or Cas, or Missouri. And he was stupid and delusional for thinking that he could.

“Okay.” He said, staring blankly at the cards. “So, you see this here? This picture has horns, which means that your grandson was a hunter in the last life.”

He felt something he felt intuition creeping up, ebbing and flowing. But he ignored it, and went on. He'd laid down four things, and he spewed some generic bullshit for each of them. When he was finished he scooped up the cards that he'd read and put them on top of the deck, ignoring the nagging guilt in his gut, and the uncertainty.

She looked pleased, but Castiel had this weird look in his eye, like he could tell that Dean hadn't actually meant a word of what he'd said.

“Well, Martha, I believe that's it for now.” Castiel said. Immediately Dean was grateful for the chance to get the fuck out of this place. He wanted to go home and fix stuff and fetch things for Castiel. That? Now _that_ he knew he could do right. He didn't want to have to deal with anymore of this spiritual bullshit himself.

“Goodbye Castiel! I'm sorry for upsetting you, dear, and you should have a nice day.” Martha said. Castiel nodded to her, and Dean got up. He was antsy now, and just wanted to get out the door and head back home.

Dean didn't even say goodbye. He was sick of being tense and sick of staying in this room that suddenly felt too small. He gave a small wave and walked out the door, leaving the two of them there.

~~~

By the time Castiel finished with his goodbyes, Dean was already out the door and sitting in the driver's seat of the impala.

There was a tension there, one that Castiel knew he would have to break. He climbed into the impala, sorry to say that he was starting to get accustomed to it.

He had to admit that it was a nice car.

“So, just back home?” Dean asked. Castiel paused.

“Yes.” He said. He was expecting Dean to go ahead and start the car, but he didn't. Dean sighed and let his hands slowly fall off the steering wheel. His eyes stayed on his lap.

“Cas?” He said, deciding to break the ice himself. “I didn't like that. In fact, I hated it. I'm sorry that I can't do more to help around the house, man, but I can't do this to help either.”

“Dean, you do more than enough.” Cas said. He fought against the disappointment threatening to rise up and consume his thoughts. Not in Dean, but in himself. Dean wasn't ready, and he pushed him too far. Castiel should have waited, and made sure he was ready. He had looked so nervous doing that reading. “You don't have to do this, too. It's fine.”

There was a silence. Castiel silently begged every second that Dean would turn and look at him, say something to ease the tension, but he didn't.

It couldn't stay like that forever, though.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean said. His hands rose to grip the steering wheel again, and he put the car in reverse. “Hey, do you wanna get some breakfast before we go back?”

Castiel felt a smile pull at his lips. He was a little upset right now, but that just might cheer him up. He knew a real, genuine Krispy Kreme's about ten minutes away from here. It was even on the way back to the House.

He considered getting enough for everyone. Usually, that's what he would do. But after the emotionally charged morning that he and Dean had had, he wanted something to be just theirs. It would be nice.

“That sounds good.” Castiel said. He relaxed into his seat and leaned on the door. “How do doughnuts sound to you?”

Dean looked over at him with humor in his eyes.

“Do you hear yourself when you speak?” He asked. “That's the stupidest question I've ever heard.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and tell me how I did?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have had something about Pamela's past in here before. This is a more in-depth look at it.   
> Again, magic/psychic abilities likely could NOT let Pamela "see", this is like that because that's how it was in the show, not because it's realistic. Astral projection and Rowena visiting hell is actually possible, though.   
> The fair will be a 3-4 chapter arc. I hope you're ready for it~

Dean wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow, giving a groan as he returned one last time to push the car-jack up. This was the last tire he needed to change.

“Are you done there, Dean-o?” Gabriel questioned, coming up behind him and resting his elbow on Dean's shoulder. Dean pushed it off, making a face that he knew was unattractive. 

“Well, since you do in fact have eyes in your face, I'm gonna guess that that was a rhetorical question.” 

“Don't be so mean, Dean.” Gabriel warned, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

“Go do your fucking job, Gabriel.” Dean retorted. Gabriel was _supposed_ to be making sure that all the supplies were ready to go for the first day of the annual psychic's convention, but it seemed as though he'd confused “make sure everything is ready” with “annoy the shit out of the man fixing the van”.

“It's a miracle you're here. There's no way we would get this van fixed in time to go if it wasn't for you.” Castiel announced. He walked up behind Dean, his feet crunching against the gravel. Dean continued to move the tire iron in a circular motion, coaxing the wheel off the car one lug nut at a time.

“Yeah, well, I'm here to help.” Dean said, catching the lug nut in his hand as it fell off the wheel. He kept going, unscrewing them one at a time. He turned his attention towards Castiel, who still hadn't left. “Do you, uh... Have everything ready?”

“Yes. We all do. In fact, Gabriel is _supposed to be_ loading everything into the car right now.” Cas said, giving him a warning glare. Gabriel rolled his eyes before turning, putting a hand on his hip, and power-walking back inside the house to start his job. Castiel took a few steps closer to Dean, apparently more comfortable without his brother around. 

“Do you need any help with that?” He questioned. Dean stopped his working, turning around to look at Castiel. He wondered whether or not he was making some kind of a dry joke that Dean didn't understand, but as far as he could tell, Cas was being completely serious.

“Why the interest now?” Dean teased. Castiel allowed a small smile to grace his face.

“I taught you how to read. I figure it's my turn to learn something from you.” He teased. Dean paused.

It wasn't a good memory. Ever since what happened with Martha, the two of them had been tip-toeing around the topic. Castiel hadn't offered to give Dean any more lessons since then, for which Dean was thankful, but that also meant that they lost one of their best excuses to spend time with each other.

They still talked, still watched movies. Just as much, if not more, than they did before. But now, there was something different about it. Both of them knew that it was because the other _liked_ spending time with them. Castiel and Dean couldn't deny the fact that they were friends.

The only hard part about it was that Dean wasn't really sure if they _should_ be.

Castiel was his land-lord _and_ his employer. Getting too close to the boss could have terrible repercussions if, for some reason, they got into a fight. It wasn't even himself he was worried about; it was Sam.

But he knew Cas. Or at least he was pretty sure he did. He knew him well enough to know that Cas wouldn't be the kind of person to kick them out over something like that. At the very least, not without a good warning. Dean just still felt a little awkward about it.

“Alright.” He agreed. He handed his tool to Cas, getting up off of his knees and wiping his sweaty forehead onto his arm. The grainy dirt made his hands feel rough. “Alright. Go get some of those lug nuts off the wheel. We'll start you out small.”

If Dean was being honest, he could use the small break anyways. He was practically dripping, the heat wearing down on his skin. He was glad he'd gotten a bit of a tan over the summer, because otherwise his skin would be burnt to a crisp.

“It's almost October, why is it still so hot?” Came a voice. Dean turned around to see that Sam had stepped out onto the porch, and he was eyeing the heat. Dean smiled a little.

Sammy looked over-prepared, as usual. He had a backpack slung on his back, and a gallon of water in his hand. A literal gallon.

“It's the South, Sammy. Racism and sunlight.”

“Don't forget lemonade.” Pamela called, walking out onto the porch with two, large glasses. She smiled at Dean, and he tried to forget the fact that she didn't have eyes under her sunglasses. Not because he had a problem with it, but because he'd seen her without the sunglasses before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

Apparently, she'd done some work with a demon and hadn't been careful enough when she was younger. A couple weeks later, an “accident” happened with her eyesight.

She caught him again and forced him back into hell, where he belonged, but the damage was already done.

He walked over and took the glass from his hands, nodding in thanks. Pamela was fascinating, and he wanted to know more about her and her backstory, but he wasn't quite comfortable enough with her to ask those kinds of questions yet. The only reason he knew what he knew now was because she felt the need to explain herself when he'd seen her without her glasses, and without the glass eyes she sometimes wore.

He didn't feel that way. It was her business, her body. Sorta creepy, sure, but he would get used to it. He'd be a pretty big asshole if he didn't.

Dean took the drink and took several large gulps, almost moaning at the fresh taste. The lemon had a zing to it, sure, but the sugar was _just_ sweet enough to make it durable. When he took another drink, the cool ice pressed against his lips.

“Thanks.” He said, setting it down. Pamela smiled.

“It's fine, Sugar. Get back to workin' up a sweat.” She teased. Dean nodded, smiling back at her.

He walked back over to the van, and his mouth ran dry.

Castiel's muscles were working as he unscrewed the wheel, bulging through his shirt. Dean wasn't sure _how_ he was so damn ripped, but he seemed _muscular_. Dean's mouth started to water as his eyes moved of their own accord, scanning up and down Castiel's body. A lug nut fell off of the wheel and into Cas's hand, and Cas let the tool drop.

“Um.” He said, out loud. Castiel looked up, his eyes snapping to attention. Dean wasn't sure how eyes could be so fucking blue. When he looked into them, he could almost _smell_ the ocean.

“Are we ready for the next step?” Castiel inquired. He held out a hand full of lug nuts. Dean looked at the tire, seeing that the one he'd just gotten was, in fact, the last of them. Dean nodded, not trusting himself with his words.

Instantly, shame caught up with him. God, Cas was _ace_. Or, grey-ace, or whatever, it didn't matter, because he wasn't attracted to Dean. Dean couldn't be looking at him like that, what if Cas got grossed out?

Their friendship already felt fragile. Dean didn't wanna fuck it up like he fucked up so many other things.

“Um, yeah. Scoot over.” Dean said. Cas followed his instructions, moving over a few steps. Dean sat down beside him, his knees pressing into the gravel of the driveway.

He put his hands on the underside of the wheel, trying to ignore it when the hot rubber of the tires burned his skin, radiating through his T-shirt and warming his chest. He gestured for Castiel to grab the other end, and started to pull as soon as they both had it.

“So, how are we all gonna fit in the van, anyways?” Dean questioned. “All the stuff has to fit inside.”

“Oh, we're not. This van doesn't even have seats in the back. Only two people will ride in here, and the rest will take my car.”

They both stood, supporting the weight of the tire. The other four had dry-rotted, and Cas had made an emergency run to Walmart to get new ones. They technically _could_ have made it on the old ones, but it was a two hour drive, and Cas didn't want to make it with them in the condition they were in. (Apparently, it had been a year since they used the van last, so nobody had bothered to check until now).

They set it down onto the ground, and together moved to pick up the new tire. This one was even hotter, and Dean let out a hiss.

“Can we take the impala?” He asked. The gravel caused his shoes to slide in the dirt, and he almost fell. He barely managed to stay upright.

“It's a two-hour drive. We're not taking the impala.” Cas announced, giving him a stern look over the tire. “We're not destroying the environment.”

Dean huffed, but he didn't argue. It would probably be cheaper to take Cas's car. 

They attached the tire, and Cas handed him the lug nuts. He taught Cas how to screw them on, and Cas did half of them before Dean took over.

“You've got it good enough. I'm gonna finish up here. Hey,” He said. He leaned a little closer to Cas, lowering his voice. “Is there any way I could get ten minutes for a quick shower? I don't wanna smell up the van.”

“I probably need one too, at this point. That'll give everyone a chance to make sure they have everything. Do you have your overnight bags packed?” Cas asked Dean. Dean nodded his heaad.

They finished the tire, Dean slowly letting the car off of the car jack. He was glad that he'd kept some tools in the back of the impala in case of an emergency, because it honestly hadn't taken but a half an hour to change the tires. Sure, that would mean that by the time everyone was in the cars they'd be an hour late, but it was significantly less time than it would take to get them changed by a shop.

“Alright. Time to go and get ready.” Dean announced. He grabbed his tools and walked over to the trunk of the impala, throwing them in. The impala bounced with their weight, and Dean shut the trunk.

~~~

Dean had never been more grateful for being in the front seat of a car.

Pamela, Sam, and Rowena were all shoved in the back, and Rowena and Pamela were fucking _loud_. They constantly laughed and hit each other from the other side of the car. Gabriel had taken Missouri and Balthazar, (Balthazar apparently planned to sell pre-summoned spirits here,) despite there only being two seats. Dean wasn't sure how that was supposed to work, but it was likely illegal.

Crowley had decided to stay home. Dean learned that he didn't generally do much, but when he did, his prices were high. Dean had only seen him around dinner time.

He'd never been more grateful for the front seat in his life.

About halfway through the trip, his luck ran out.

“Dean, you _have_ to switch me spots.” Sam begged. Dean almost groaned.

Because he knew he was gonna end up doing it. Sam meant the world to him, damn it, and he would do anything to make the little monster happy.

So, that's how Dean ended up wedged between Pamela and Rowena, Rowena's fucking lion's mane tickling his nose.

“And _then,_ the boy told me that he was actually _into_ older women.” Rowena purred. Pamela laughed a little.

“Honey, don't I know. I'm pretty sure I was with the same one a couple of weeks ago. Must be a local.” She teased. Dean wasn't sure if they were actually continuing a conversation from earlier, or if they were just trying to fuck with him.

“Yeah. He almost reminded me of your first, actually. The one you showed me the pictures of?” Rowena said, her voice rising, almost as if it were a question. Pamela's face morphed, turning slightly sour.

“Well, he definitely didn't act like him. Hey, have you been making many wishing spells lately? Because I'm pretty sure I have the perfect patch of dandelions-”

“What did the first act like?” Dean interrupted. He almost hadn't even realized he'd talked; he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But he also really wanted to know what the hell they were talking about.

“Oh. I figured Cas must have filled you in.” Pamela said, dryly. Castiel leaned back, briefly turning to look at them. Which, of course, was dangerous. His eyes _should_ have been on the road.

“It's your story to tell.” He informed her. Pamela seemed to force a smile.

“Well then, kids, buckle up. Because I'm not gonna have you two making your own assumptions.”

It took Dean a little while to realize that she was talking to Sam as well.

“Well, when I was younger and just starting to actually use my powers, I met a man who claimed to be a great psychic. He wooed me easily. He was tall, dark, handsome, and offered me an out to my shitty apartment, working with him on the road. Well, it didn't turn out too good.

“Power is everything to some people. Their relationships, likes and dislikes, everything they do is related to power. Well, he wanted mine. He manipulated me into summoning a few demons, binding them by force and making them do his bidding. It was a little overwhelming, at first, but I got used to it.

“But it never seemed to be enough for him. I was always asked to do more, become more, bring him more. Customers, money, demons. It was hard on me. My defenses were fallen, and most of my magic felt constantly drained. Actually, that's a big part of the reason why I don't like to use much magic anymore. Because, when you feel that dry, it's like an itch. I still have troubles feeling like my magic is full anymore.

“But enough about that. Basically, he went too far one night, made me summon a demon that was a little too powerful for my own good. And it took these babies a couple weeks later." She gestured towards her eyes.  "I left him. I finally saw him for what he was, just when I couldn't actually _see_ anything.

“Opened up a little place in a little town. Lived on my own for a couple of years. But it was a little too lonely for my tastes. I met Cas a couple years later, at a psychic convention, much like this one. He offered me a place, and I met Rowena.” She shot a smile at Rownea.

“I remembered just how much I missed friends. So, I decided to come and live here instead of on my own. It's been a lot of fun. Plus, I've been able to get someone to do winged eyeliner for me.” She teased, towards Rowena.

“If you'd just let me teach you how to do it for yourself, you wouldn't _have_ to make me do it! You may be blind, dearie, but you can see just fine!” She teased back. Pamela smiled, wide.

“How does that work, anyways?” Dean asked. Pamela shrugged.

“My powers help me out in that aspect. I don't know how, but it works most of the time. I still do bump into stuff, ocassionally, or fuck up my nails.” She smiled, holding up her red-tipped fingers.

“I help out when I can. But I'm a very busy woman. I have to keep up my magic exercises, you know.” Rowena said. Pamela was still smiling.

She clearly didn't like talking about her past, about what had happened, but she did it anyways. She was resilient and strong, and she didn't let her past stop her from enjoying the present. Dean respected her even more now.

“Missouri helps out when she can't. It should also be noted that, while there are flukes with my intuition, I usually can't read. Cas keeps around a few books in braille for when I get bored.”

“So do you do that weird astral thing I keep hearing about?” Dean asked.

“Astral projection? Absolutely. I'm the one who makes sure the wards around the house are up.”

Astral projection, as Dean had heard it, was when the soul left the body and traveled to another realm. Or, at least, that's what the magazine he read in the bathroom (and Balthazar) had said. He figured that the best way for Pamela to be able to see more would be astral projection.

“I practice that as well.” Rowena put in. Dean turned towards her.

“Why do you do it?” He asked. He had a feeling that he shouldn't have asked, especially when a wicked grin spread across Rowena's face.

“Well, dearie, you know Satan?”

Dean blinked. “Um. Yeah?”

“Well, he and I have a very special kind of relationship. I visit every once in awhile.”

“But wait. Doesn't that make you uncomfortable?” He asked, turning back towards Pamela. The woman had had her eyes clawed out by a demon, and she was okay with one of her besties taking night trips to see Satan?

Pamela shrugged and shook her head no. “As long as she doesn't bring anything back with her, I'm safe.”

“Oh. Well.” Dean said, trying to clear his head. Damn, this was a lot to take in.

“Don't be overwhelmed, dearie. We're just a little different, that's all. Most witches are, y'know.” Rowena informed him, smiling.

“Hey. I'm not a witch. Just a psychic.” Pamela put in. Rowena laughed a little, nodding her head.

“Of course. Sorry dearie. You and Missouri are the only ones.”

~~~

“I literally can't fucking believe you.” Castiel deadpanned. Dean had probably heard him cuss before, but this time, it was weirdly jarring. Maybe it was because of his flat, un-surprised tone.

“I got the luggage in?” Gabe responded, a weak attempt at defending himself. Of course, nobody was impressed. He'd forgotten all of their equipment, for what Dean learned was the third year in a row.

“There's no way I'm driving back for all of it today. By the time we got there and back, prime time would already be over.” Castiel warned, turning to Gabriel and offering a glare. Somehow, Dean thought that his heart wasn't really in it. He didn't look as mad as he should be.

“I'm sorry.” Gabriel said, flashing puppydog eyes. Castiel rolled his own, turning towards everyone. Most of them were still staring at the half-full truck, likely looking for their luggage. Just to make sure all of their clothes were there.

“Alright, everyone. As long as you all have what you need for today, we're not going to set up. I'll inform the staff that we won't be setting up today.” Castiel announced. Dean watched as grins stretched across everyone's faces.

“So we can go around and take a free day?” Rowena questioned. Castiel nodded his head. Pamela immediately grabbed Rowena's hand.

“I do hope you're planning on having a tag-along, because there's no way I could keep up with all the people here.” Pamela informed her. Rowena nodded, despite the fact that Pamela couldn't see it.

“I would never leave you to work your way through a crowd alone.” Rowena informed her.

“Does everyone have money for at least food?” Castiel questioned. All of them nodded in agreement. Well, all except for Sam.

He'd asked Dean to hang onto his money. Cas gave them each an extra $50 a week, same as the other residents. Which, when you considered that he also provided them with food, shelter, and all other essentials, was pretty damn good.

“Okay. Go, have fun. Hopefully you all can gather some new supplies.” Cas said, waving everyone off with his hand. Sam stayed awkwardly behind, and Dean waved him over.

“Here.” He said, taking out his wallet and handing Sam a $50. He still had three left from Sam, but he figured that walking around with too much at once might be a bad idea for someone so young. Plus, he didn't want Sam to spend it all in one place.

“If you need more, tell me.” Dean said, patting his shoulder. Sam took the money gratefully.

“Thanks!” Sam said, before turning and running towards the crowd. 

That left just him and Cas.

“Do you want to go look at everything alone, or would you like to walk with me?” Castiel asked. Dean felt an immediate wave of relief. He would have no clue what to do or where to go if he had to do this on his own.

“I have no plans.” He confirmed. “Lead the way.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please leave a comment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shortening my original plan for this fic to be able to finish it, because I apologize but I'm frankly losing interest due to inactivity. Which is my fault. But this fic will probably only have three more chapters.

The grass brushed up against Castiel's ankles as they walked through the tall grass of the parking lot. The sun made the sky a bright and cheerful blue, streaking the festival with beams of light and warming the people there. 

The leaves on the trees stood out, reds and oranges and yellows mixing with the still-prevalent green, creating one big, beautiful swash of color. The air was warmer than could be expected that time of year, and carrying many wonderful scents towards them. Vegetables and spices and smoke filled the air as they walked, Dean's eyes shifting between the people milling about and the booths themselves. 

“See anything that interests you?” Castiel asked, amused. Dean turned towards him, angling his body to face Cas but still helping his eyes on the crowd. 

“Not sure. Everything's basically a circus of weird so far.” Dean said. Castiel wasn't offended; Dean's tone didn't imply that it was a bad thing, but rather that it would take him some getting used to. Which Castiel could definitely understand. 

Dean's eyes followed as a woman in long, flowing garments quite literally danced past him, her body moving freely and her skirt swirling around her ankles. Castiel chuckled. 

“Maybe _you're_ a circus of weird to them.” He responded, though the claim had no validation. Most of the people at the fair were dressed fairly “normal”. However, Cas did have to admit that Dean's energy stood out in this place. Most of the people here were peaceful. Dean felt like he had walls up around himself, even moreso than he usually did. 

Cas scarcely ever felt that wall open up. 

“I guess.” Dean acknowledged, As the crowd and the noise level began to rise, Dean slid closer and closer to Castiel, moving with him. It came to be that their shoulders were touching, and Cas felt a warm affection well up within himself. 

They kept walking. Castiel waited, wanting Dean to pick their first activity, to let him get acclimated to this place on his own time. He didn't expect Dean to _say_ where he wanted to go out loud, but Castiel was paying close attention. When Dean picked a place, there was no way he'd miss- 

There! 

He stopped walking, bringing the both of them to a hault. Dean's steps had faltered, and his eyes had lingered just a little too long on one of the booths. Castiel felt a smile creep up on his face, and he knew that this was where Dean wanted to go. 

Castiel read the sign. “ _Psychic Test: See if You've Got the Stuff!”_ was displayed across the front in large, red, swirling letters. Castiel walked forward, grabbing Dean's arm so he couldn't ditch. 

“Cas!” Dean hissed, his face adapting a lovely blush. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” 

“Come on, this will be fun.” He insisted, pulling Dean along with him. They got into the line, just a couple of people in front of them. A twelve-year-old girl was standing in front of the woman, looking incredibly nervous. 

“Cas, you know stuff like this is a hoax.” Dean said. Castiel was more than amused; Dean kept looking around, and the blush on his face wouldn't leave. He was clearly self-conscious right now, despite the fact that they were at a psychic convention. 

“Relax, nobody is going to judge you.” Castiel said flatly, hoping to reassure Dean. “It's obviously just for fun. Isn't that what you enjoy doing. Things that are, “fun”?” Castiel asked. Dean blinked at him, owlishly, and his blush began to diminish. 

“Alright, you have a point.” He said, reluctantly. Though his eyes flashed towards the booth in a way that suggested he was more than privy to the idea. Castiel could tell that he wanted to try it, and he'd be damned if he let Dean walk away from it. 

This was Dean's first exposure to psychic culture. There was no way Castiel was going to let him walk out of this without having a positive experience. And that started with actually doing the things that he wanted to do. 

It felt weird, showing Dean this place. Like taking Dean back to a childhood home, of sorts. Castiel had always been attracted to magic and wonder and places like this, and he wanted Dean to love it here just as much as he did. His attraction to Dean had almost nothing to do with it; this was purely and simply for Dean's happiness, because he wanted to see Dean happy. 

Besides, he'd be around places like this a lot in the future if Sam had anything to do with it. 

The old woman, wearing a nametag with ' _Mildred_ ' printed in bold letters, looked at the young girl. She'd just completed whatever the test was, something to do with cards. She peered closer, squinting her eyes before declaring, “You have done well, child. You have a great gift. Use it wisely.” 

The young girl's eyes lit up, and she nodded gratefully before skipping away. That left Castiel and Dean at the front of the line. Cas turned towards Dean, expecting him to go first. 

Dean stayed frozen to the spot, seemingly unable to move. He wouldn't make eye contact with either Castiel or the woman in the booth, clearly too embarassed to step forward. Castiel rolled his eyes, but stepped forward first. 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Well, you certainly don't need to be here. I had plans to go and visit you myself tomorrow. I suppose this is for your friend?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Dean said, finally unfreezing. “We're. uh... Just messing around. Cas thought that this would be “fun”.” 

“Well, not with that attitude.” She teased. Dean unthawed a little, the corner of his mouth perking up when he saw that she wasn't taking this all that seriously either. 

“Alright, I'll bite. How does this work?” He asked. Mildred smiled up at him, a crooked smile. 

“You see these cards?” She asked, gesturing towards the table. Castiel had seen this trick a million times, now close enough to recognize exactly what she was doing. It was fairly simple and usually could be done at home, often times something children used to hone their intuition. In fact, he'd used the trick himself. (Which, of course, would explain why this table was just accepting donations, rather than charging).

He was focussed on Dean, who was paying rapt attention. Dean, who seemed to be taking this a little more seriously than he normally would just for fun. He seemed just a tad bit stressed out, just a little too on edge for this to be something he wasn't taking seriously. Castiel wondered what that meant; it was just a children's game. Why was Dean so tense. 

The woman flipped over the four cards in front of her, taking them and shuffling them so fast there was no possible way that Dean could follow. She lay them back down again, one after another along her rickety table. 

She raised her hands, looking up at Dean mischeviously. “So, now. Tell me which one is the Ace of Hearts.” 

Dean raised his hands, and Castiel noticed a slight quiver in them. It could be his imagination, sure, but he was seldom wrong when it came to people. _Very_ seldom wrong. 

He hovered his hand over each card, feeling it carefully. His face showed that he was clearly attempting to act blasé about this, but Cas could see right through that. Dean cared about what the outcome would be. 

He flipped over a card, the furthest to the left. He stared in shock as the battered, slightly frayed ace came into view. The Ace of Hearts. Castiel smiled, and Dean quickly moved to hide the fact that he was pleased. “It's just a coincidence.” 

“Then try it again, dearie.” She offered, pushing the cards forward. Dean shook his head no, silently declining. 

“I think Dean's probably about ready for something to eat.” Castiel informed her. She laughed, and Dean immediately perked up. It warmed Castiel's heart again to see him act so open. 

“I'm starving. I had something at the house, but-” 

“I know. Putting up with Pamela and Rowena exhausts me too.” He said, flatly. It took Dean a moment to realize that he was joking, but when he did, Dean threw back his head in a loud, extravagant laugh. Castiel decided that he wanted to hear that laugh a million more times, and fought off a smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Uh, thanks, Mildred.” Dean said, turning back to nod at her respectfully. She nodded back, her eyes sparkling. Cas dug into his pocket for a few dollars, leaning over and putting them into the jar. After all, he wanted to support any of his fellow psychics in whatever way possible. 

“Anytime, dearie. Call me when you're done with that skepticism.” She teased. Dean chuckled, though his heart wasn't really into it, and Cas began to lead them both away. 

They passed up the organization booth, and Dean stopped. 

“Wait a minute.” He said. Castiel had already ground to a halt beside him, hoping that Dean had found something else he wanted to do. “Didn't you say that we had to tell them we weren't gonna be setting up?” 

Castiel quirked up an eyebrow. “You honestly think that after the third year in a row I wouldn't assume this was going to happen?” 

Dean paused, realization dawning on his face. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.” He said, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands. Castiel felt the corner of his mouth quirk up and he started walking again, towards the food shops. 

“So, are you in the mood for anything in particular?” He questioned, keeping his eyes on the crowd. 

“I don't suppose there would be much good meat around here, do you?” Dean questioned, his voice taking on a teasing tone. 

Castiel recognized the opportunity to make an innuendo, and he couldn't pass it up. 

“Unless I'm your type.” He responded, refusing to look back. Dean froze, stopping in the middle of the path. Castiel only got a few steps ahead of him before he turned, and saw a very confused, very _flustered_ , Dean Winchester. 

“Well, uh-Not, not usually!” Dean said, his voice rising an octave. He then quickly brought it back down with a clear of his throat. 

If Castiel wasn't mistaken, he'd acted a little bit... Smitten. Not enough for Castiel to be sure- Gosh, no, never enough for Cas to be sure- But enough to make hope swarm his stomach, dangerous and tangible. Where there is hope, there is the possibility of pain. “Sorry. That was just a little... Unexpected, coming from you.” 

Cas realized then that he'd been staring intently at Dean for longer than was necessary. He forced himself to smile, hoping to signal to Dean that he didn't mind. “It's fine. I've been told before that I tend to do things that are unexpected.” He informed him. 

“Well, whoever told you that was right.” Dean said. Castiel and him stared into each other's eyes, unmoving in a crowd of people. There was something just a little tense there, like words unspoken lingered in the air between them.

“I'll try not to startle you again.” Castiel said, playfully. The moment shattered, the tension crawling under their skin fading away. Castiel had felt almost like, in that moment, Dean was confessing something, something he wouldn't realize until later.

Those words _resounded_ with him. Dean's panicked _“Not, not usually!”_ felt like more than it was. Like Dean was admitting something. But Castiel knew for a fact that Dean was heterosexual. Even though Dean acknowledged that he was agendered, he still had a male body. There was no way that Dean could be attracted to him without having seriously altered his mindset. (A possibility, but not one he'd let himself consider).

“Thanks for that.” Dean said. He melted, his body relaxing and his eyes smiling at Castiel.

“But yes, we have excellent pork here. Not everyone who practices magic is a vegan, you know.” Cas reminded him, turning and beginning to move with the crowd instead of just standing there. They were beginning to get angry looks from people who had to swerve to dodge them.

“Dude, really?” Dean questioned, getting excited.

“Yes, really. Follow me.” Castiel said, beginning to lead them again.

~~~

A couple of things had changed since the year before. Some booths were in different places, and a couple of the vendors were no longer attending. Their spots were filled with new, younger faces. A couple of older faces, radiant and peaceful. Nobody ever seemed to be upset this time of year.

“I hope you know that we need to acquire napkins.” Dean teased. Castiel was fairly certain that Dean was using the word 'aquire' to mock him for using what Dean called “spelling-bee words” in normal conversation. “Or else I'm gonna be walking around this place covered in barbeque sauce.”

“I'll get some.” Castiel responded, rolling his eyes. He turned and walked back to the small table that contained barbeque sauce and silverwear, and grabbed a handful of napkins.

It was a good thing that he did. By the end of the meal, almost all of them had been used. At one point he'd had to stop Dean and wipe away a little barbeque sauce from his _hair_. Castiel had no clue how he got it there, but he knew that he was in a similarly messy state.

This barbeque sauce was messy, what could he say?

When they were finished, he forced Dean to help him find a bathroom with running water. Castiel couldn't stand the feeling of being sticky, and the barbeque sauce was just too much for him.

This involved walking to the edge of the festival, and across the street to a small bait & tackle shop. Dean leaned against the door as he washed his face, and Castiel heard, “You're _such_ a neat freak, Cas.”

“And you're still sticky.” Cas retaliated. “Plus, have you looked inside of your bedroom lately? It's the cleanest in the house, including mine.”

“You saw it for ten seconds while I was grabbing a book. I could have a month's worth of dirty underwear shoved in the closet.” Dean grumbled. Castiel smiled, just a small bit. Dean had quickly become his favorite member of the house for bantering with. At first, some of those fights or disagreements had been real, but they'd slowly and surely worked out their differences.

“Yes, and those ten seconds compared to Gabriel's room makes you a saint in my eyes.”

“Which would be an amazing compliment if you were Catholic, Cas.” Dean teased back. “But since you're a pagan, I doubt that holds much meaning.”

Castiel opened the door, causing Dean to stumble as his resting spot pushed against him.

“I'm _eclectic_ pagan, and I believe in the Saints. Many of them were real people. Maybe you should know what you're talking about before you open your mouth, Winchester.”

“I can open my mouth any time I want to.” Dean responded.

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“ _You_ make no sense whatsoever.” Dean retaliated.

Castiel rolled his eyes and they began to walk together, passing a couple of girls on the way out. One had a small flower crown across her head, and she turned to face them as they went.

“Hey, my name's Charlie Bradbury.”

“Are you really going to do this _now_?” Her friend questioned, looking halfway between loving it and hating it.

“It's my civic duty, Gilda. Anywho, you two. How long have you been together?” Charlie questioned.

Castiel felt a shock go through him, and he froze. He remained silent, not wanting to be the one who rebuffed her claim.

He expected Dean to immediately jump on it, adamantly deny her accusation. He expected that she'd apologize and walk away and Castiel would _try_ but _fail_ to dismiss the awkward tension between him and Dean for the rest of the day. But that isn't what happened.

Dean wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, laying his head on top of Cas's. Cas felt butterflies explode. Dean teased, “You tell her, Hunny.”

“It's been three months.” Castiel told her, recognizing that Dean was being an asshole. It didn't matter to him, though. Because Dean Winchester's head was lying on his shoulder, and the world felt _right_.

Castiel gathered a small amount of courage and wrapped Dean's hand in his. He felt a small, affectionate squeeze that had nothing to do with their charade.

“Oh, don't be assholes about it. If you're not together yet, you can just say so. Your energies are just intertwined. Like, when I feel you, I don't just feel one of you. I feel both.” Charlie responded. Castiel's brows furrowed.

“Wait.” He said. Dean stood up straight and took a half-step away, clearing his throat. Once the charade was over, he clearly had no interest in staying that close. Castiel fought against the disappointment that threatened to well up inside, dragging his mind back to its present thought. “Charlie Bradbury. Don't you run a youtube show about being an energy and aura reader?”

“Why yes!” She replied, enthusiastically. Her smile stretched across her face, clearly ecstatic at being recognized. “That would be me. Are you familiar with my work?”

“I've seen a couple of your videos. You're very good at what you do.” Cas complimented.

“That's great to hear.” Charlie said, beaming. She immediately turned to Gilda, teasingly elbowing her in the arm.

“See? I told you I was famous enough to get recognized.”

“You have more subscribers to your Dungeons & Dragons channel.” Gilda teased back. Charlie just smiled at her, making big, loving eyes. Castiel watched as Dean lit up.

“Whoa, you play DnD?”

“Yeah! You, I'm guessing?”

Dean looked down, seeming to deflate at the question. “Well, I did for a couple of weeks. But then I switched schools and at the time it was just too hectic to get into anything. But I'd love to get back into it.”

“You should, man. I mean, don't get me wrong, some of the races they've taken out of the playbook were my favorite part of the fourth edition, but the fifth edition is still pretty cool. Plus, if your Dungeon Master is willing to stretch the rules like ours, you can still have some of that stuff.” She informed him.

Castiel mentally took notes. He'd heard of Dungeons and Dragons before, sure, but he'd never really played it himself. Maybe he and Dean could play together? He'd have to do some research, see what this was all about.

“Wicked. I played as a Dwarf the first time, mainly because I had a friend who convinced me that a Dwarf would really help out the party. And it would have, if I'd started out on literally any level other than level three.”

“Yes, I suppose level two would have been a great help.” Castiel mumbled. Dean elbowed him in the side, much like Charlie had elbowed Gilda, and Cas gave a small smile.

“Hey, you two seem pretty cool.” Charlie said, changing the subject. “Why don't we hang out a little today? I mean there's some stuff I have to pick up, but other than that I'm free.”

Castiel glanced at Dean, and he could almost see the begging in his friend's eyes.

“Of course.” He answered. Dean squeezed his hand again, and all at once he realized that they were still touching, still connected. Dean would normally never allow this, but it seemed like the alone time and teasing and intimacy had brought his walls temporarily down. Castiel didn't know if he would ever get another opportunity to hold Dean's hand like this. So, he was going to milk this for as long as he possibly could.

Today was turning out pretty fantastic.

~~~

Sam's palms were sweaty. He'd always been told that was normal for a teenage boy, but he didn't think he'd ever had it this bad.

And he couldn't even work up the guts to talk to her.

He'd just bought his own tarot deck, (Pamela had given him a basic one, but he felt that this one had an energy more compatible with his) and he was getting ready to move on to buying some crystals. He followed the crowds to a large stand with necklaces and earrings and bracelets made of crystal, with a fairly steady line. He'd almost gotten in that line, before he saw her.

Long blonde hair cascaded down her back in waves. Her clothing was loose and natural, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. Her eyes sparkled blue, and when she laughed at something a customer said, her eyes crinkled in a way that was almost too adorable. Her lips were a pale pink color, thin, but not too thin. She gave away smiles to anyone who met her gaze.

Sam had it _bad_ , and he didn't even know her name.

Time seemed to drag to a crawl as he fought with himself over whether or not to go talk to her. She was cute, and seemed nice, and honestly Sam hadn't had a crush in a _really_ long time.

Finally, he had the solution to his problem. He could just ask his new tarot cards whether or not he should talk to her! They'd give a definitive answer, and he'd listen to whatever they told him to do.

He found a little table just off the corner of a fast-food booth, small and round. The kind that would usually be taken, had the chairs not been missing. He took his cards out of the box, feeling the energy buzz beneath his fingers as he closed his eyes and spread the cards out on the table, running his hands a couple of inches over them in order to pick the ones that felt like the best match.

He turned it over. Ace of Wands, a delicately drawn wooden stick with a small leaf still attached peering up at him.

He sighed, feeling anxiety tighten in his gut.

He was going to talk to her. He could do this, and he would have a good time, even if she wasn't interested, or he was too awkward to ask her out.

Sam walked up, puffing his chest out. He tried to mimic Dean's usual posture and swagger, knowing that his older brother certainly had a way with the ladies and hoping that some of that could help him out now. He got in line and waited while the girl packed up an old woman's crystals in a small, paper bag.

Finally, he was left in front of her. She looked up, her incredibly blue eyes meeting his, and he felt all the air and all the courage he'd worked up leave his body in one breath.

It was a good thing that nobody was behind him, because he was pretty sure he stood there in silence for a solid minute before he finally got up the nerve to talk.

“H-Hey.” He said, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks without warning.

“Hey there! I'm Jess. Is there anything I can help you with today?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows and leaning forward on her elbows. The sun shone down on her naturally blonde hair in that moment, the yellowish tint almost seeming like a halo.

“Well, uh...” Sam said, trying desperately to remember anything whatsoever. “I'm Sam. I'm pretty new to this whole crystal thing, and just now learning to control my weird psychic vibes, and I was wondering if you had anything that would, uh, help with that?”

“Weird psychic vibes?” She questioned. Sam had to keep himself from flinching. The people he'd told had usually demanded he do something to “prove” it to them, or else they didn't believe him. And sometimes he was able to give them something to believe in, but most of the time their outright demands made him too nervous to be able to prove anything.

“You have two dogs.” He spat out. “And your aunt died last week. Uh, condolences.”

She looked weirded out, but she looked okay. “It's alright, I believe you.”

By the end of the sentence she was smiling again, which gave Sam some hope that he hadn't already screwed this up too badly. She picked up a small purple stone in the shape of a heart and slid it across the table, flipping her hair. “Some amethyst might do the trick.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sam said, even though he'd mostly forgotten why he was even there in the first place. She smiled a little wider, and he was pretty sure for just a few moments that they were lost in each other's eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please leave a comment?


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